


Tale of Two Lavellans

by Carapatzin



Series: Bring the Storm [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: All of the everything, And the Hinterlands, Angst, Arkoudaphobia, Basically totally focuses on Dorian, Being rude to Corypheus, Bisexual Male Character, Blackwall has a glorious beard, Canon Divergence, Cassandra is disgusted by everything, Characters learning how to love, Developing Relationship, Dorian's magical moustache, Elf With a Sailor Mouth, Elf drools over hot men, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, It was the best of elves, Kissing in the Snow, M/M, Mages, Multi, Multiple Lavellans, Multiple Wardens, Multiple romances - Freeform, Playing around with canon, Purple Hawke, Questioning Everything, Relationships May Alter Throughout, Screw bears, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Solas/Lavellan Bromance, Title is a silly Tale of Two Cities reference, character cameos, it was the worst of elves, why must there be corpses everywhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 60
Words: 214,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4815248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carapatzin/pseuds/Carapatzin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nanyehi Lavellan was not expecting to fall bodily into the Fade and come out with a mark on her hand when she was assigned to spy on the shemlen Conclave.</p><p>Finn Lavellan was not expecting the walking masterpiece that is Dorian Pavus.</p><p>(Back to regular posting!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Scar in the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is a double-Lavellan novelization of Inquisition that wildly starts chucking canon out the window like nobody's business. 
> 
> You might have seen this floating around on Fanfiction before; it has been running there for almost a year. But if you've never come across it previously, hope you enjoy! This continues to be quite the labor of love. :)
> 
> Also, for those curious, the title is intended to be a Tale of Two Cities reference. "It was the best of elves, it was the worst of elves..." Not that the quote really applies here, anyway. 
> 
> I'll stop now.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. Finirial Lavellan paced, ice crunching under his feet.

The keeper of their clan had sent both him and his younger sister Nanyehi down to Ferelden to spy on what Finn gathered was a meeting of significant importance. More like she'd tried to send _just_ Nanyehi, who happened to be one of the clan's best archers; Finn wouldn't have that. He'd been protecting his little sister since he could walk, and important _shemlen_ affairs be damned, he wasn't about to let Nani head straight into human territory without backup.

Haven was pretty enough, in a desolate, frosty sort of way, with its cozy wooden buildings and pine trees laden with loads of pale snow. Finn rather loved weather like this, when the air was dry enough that the cold felt like a fresh breath of energy and not a bucket of water dumped over your head. Crisp, refreshing. As First to the keeper, Finn needed an exceptional command over most types of magic, but he'd always found ice magic his favorite.

He paced again. Nanyehi had crept into the meeting two hours ago. He hoped they hadn't found her. A few more minutes, and he'd probably storm the meeting himself. Leaning back against the rough bark of a pine trunk, he tilted his head towards the sky and studied the wispy white clouds in the endless dome of vivid blue.

"You look like the sky," Nanyehi always told him, as if each time was the first she'd ever mentioned it. "Mother never mentioned why your hair's white. I suppose we'll never know."

Just a quirk, Finn had always suspected. His short ice-white hair tended to fluff up in funny tufts when he didn't manage it right, and most of the women in his clan liked to run their hands through it, a fact Finn usually tolerated. His eyes got lots of comments from them too: vivid eyes with deep navy blue radiating out from the pupils and a sort of crisp glacial blue around that. Finn didn't mind the comments. They were just being nice. His sister, at least, didn't fawn over his appearance, didn't call him "pretty" and touch his arm and bat her eyes.

_Where is she?_

Finn liked to think happy thoughts. He was a _glass-half-full-of-smooth-mead_ kind of person. But when it came to Nani, well… He never wanted to take any chances.

Still nothing.

Finn blew out sharply through his mouth, watching his breath fog before him. Then he glanced over at where he'd last seen Nanyehi disappear, a growing sense of unease twisting his stomach. Something didn't feel right. The small town felt like it was holding its breath, and he couldn't quite place why.

_That's it_ , he thought, pushing away from the pine. _I'm pulling her out of there. This isn't worth her safety_. No _shem_ would take kindly to a Dalish rogue spying on an important peace-talk, even if said rogue's intentions were perfectly harmless.

An explosion rocked the world, sending Finn flying.

He tumbled past the pine, scraping himself on the bark as he flew like a ragdoll into the heaps of snow, finally rolling to a stop. His head spun, his lungs struggled to take in the breath that had been knocked out of them. When he opened his blurred eyes and stared up at the sky, he saw a great chasm above the mountains, a chasm of pulsating, rippling pale green light, with a twisting green spire descending below. His ears picked up the last sound he wanted to hear: screaming.

What in the _world?_

"Nani!" Finn yelled, scrambling to his feet and tripping over a clod of ice beneath the snow. He gripped his staff's handle tightly and ran for the village, eyes wide in panic.

No one seemed to care about the Dalish mage careening through the village. Finn hurried past hordes of frightened people, nearly running into a woman who'd paused to stare at the sky like she couldn't comprehend what had happened. A father ushered his son away from the site of the blast, in the opposite direction of Finn's path. Finn vaulted over a young girl stooping to pick up the cloth doll she'd dropped on the muddied dirt path and continued, his legs straining as he made his way up the rocky mountain path.

_Don't be dead. DON'T BE DEAD._

He heard some Fereldan soldiers shouting behind him, probably heading for the same thing as him, but they wouldn't catch him. Finn could outrun any human. If he could just reach the site of the explosion, find Nanyehi, pull her to safety before anyone realized what the two of them had been doing…

His cloth-wrapped feet skidded as he made his way onto a frozen pond, and he recovered as best he could, sprinting up some crude stone stairs and gasping for breath. Within minutes he reached the temple the meeting had been held at, and he stopped, panting, eyes wide in disbelief.

Where a proud stone edifice had one stood, a grey bulwark against the mountain elements, now lay a smoldering ruin of rubble.

"Creators, _no_ ," he said, rushing for the rubble without a moment's hesitation. A path downward through what had once been stone walls led him through the temple's old hallway, and he followed it, dreading what he might see. And when he came upon the center of the ruins, he realized his worst nightmares couldn't have conjured something quite like this.

The corpses had been petrified exactly how they'd perished, mouths agape in agony, bony withered hands reaching for the sky, for a savior that would never come. There must've been hundreds, scattered around the ruins, little tufts of flame flickering on their mangled bodies. Finn covered his mouth with a hand, trying not to vomit. He stepped carefully around them, looking for a glimpse of deep, wine-red hair even though he knew his sister wouldn't even be recognizable if she were here.

Nanyehi was quick on her feet, and she knew to trust her instincts. Surely she would have escaped before the blast caught up with her. Surely…

Finn stopped, watching the air several yards in front of him. It warped and twisted, turning into a flashing green scar, and to his astonishment, the scar in the air opened up momentarily and spat out his sister.

She landed face-down on the ground, her cabernet hair a tangled mess, her pale skin covered in dirt and bruises.

"Nanyehi!" Finn shouted, running to her.

He flung himself to his knees and rolled her gently onto her back, feeling her neck for a pulse point. Thank the Creators, it was there; light, faint, but fluttering beneath the pads of his fingers. Her eyes were shut tight and she had blood crusted to the side of her mouth, but she was _alive_.

If he'd seen correctly, his little sister had just been dumped bodily out of the Beyond. And no one should've been able to physically enter the Beyond.

Finn strapped his staff to his back and gathered Nanyehi in his arms, struggling to his feet. It was then that the sound of pounding boots startled him from behind; he spun around to see a number of warriors rushing into the ruins, all of them laying their eyes on Finn and Nanyehi and probably coming to a hundred different wrong conclusions.

Shite.

Finn wasn't about to drop Nanyehi's body just to take up his staff and defend himself. He backed up, looking around frantically for an escape route, but didn't make it in time; the warriors surrounded him, blades pointing at him, and Finn steeled himself.

A woman with short black hair marched to the front, rage flaming in her dark eyes as she locked her gaze on Finn and stared him down. "What have you _done?"_ she yelled, nearly slamming her shield into Finn, who dodged out of the way at the last time. "All those people! Most Holy was – _Maker!_ I'll kill you myself!"

"We didn't cause the explosion!" Finn said. As if that would convince these warriors, who'd just come upon the scene of a heinous crime to find one Dalish elf trying to sneak another out of the ruins. He had zero chance. Mercy didn't even seem realistic at this point. "I don't even know what… Please – "

"Take them both to Haven," the woman snarled, sheathing her sword. "And let us have our justice."


	2. Mark of the Guilty

Nanyehi had barely woken up before two heavily armored warriors hauled her to her feet and marched her away. The bright outdoor sun and the white-hot glare of the snow nearly blinded her, and she squinted and stumbled as the guards pushed her up a dirt path, moving her too fast for her short elf legs. She struggled to keep up as they led her through a pair of tall wooden doors and into what looked like the village Chantry, propelling her down a set of stairs and through another door, this one so reinforced it looked like it could hold off a charging bear.

She lost consciousness again, her thoughts disoriented and jumbled; when she woke she found herself on her knees with her head slumped over, her chin nearly touching her chest. Sucking in a shuddering breath, she looked down at her hands, which were shackled together in her lap – on her left hand was a pulsing scar of greenish light that throbbed with pain every few seconds, making her grit her teeth with the effort to stay awake.

Nanyehi didn't remember a damned thing. Not the Conclave, not apparently being taken into _shemlen_ custody…not losing her brother. Finn wouldn't have left her like this. The only explanation for his apparent absence was that he'd been captured as well…or they'd killed him.

Damn them. Damn them for hurting her brother. She hoped the Dread Wolf would tear them into a thousand little pieces and hurl the bits into the far reaches of Thedas.

She might have been a _little_ angry.

The green mark on her hand pulsed again, ripping at the edges, and Nanyehi cried out in pain, doubling over. She wanted her memories back _so badly_ that her heart ached with the loss of them, but they eluded her, flitting out of reach.

She looked up as a woman strode into the cell, followed by a half dozen guards who ringed Nanyehi and held their swords at the ready.

The woman's eyes were hardened into the coldest glare Nanyehi had ever seen, her ginger hair tucked under a grey hood, no color in her fair cheeks. She stared down at Nanyehi in complete silence for an uncomfortable amount of time, and Nanyehi glared back, not wanting to show fear in front of a _shemlen_.

Another woman entered along with the redhead – a warmaiden with sharp features and cropped black hair. The warmaiden circled around Nanyehi, stopping behind her, and Nanyehi clenched her jaw.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now," the warmaiden spat. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you. And then we find your brother, an _apostate_ , trying to spirit you away from the scene of your crime."

"All too convenient," the redhead said.

So they had Finn. Creators knew what they could've done to him by now.

"What do you want from me?" Nanyehi tried. "Do you _honestly_ think I caused all this? I had nothing against _shems_ until you threw me in prison."

"You were the only survivor," the redhead reiterated. "And your brother certainly looks like an accomplice."

"Explain this!" the warmaiden snarled, lifting Nanyehi's shackled hands. The mark burst again, filling Nanyehi with crackling pain; she pressed her lips together and tried to muffle her own screams, momentarily squinting her eyes shut. "Explain _all of it_."

"I can't!" Nanyehi cried. "Finn, my brother, he's alive – he saw what happened – _please_ , if you have him in custody here, let him be a witness and not a criminal! We didn't do anything!"

"Your brother is safe at the moment," the redhead said.

"Don't run circles around my question," the black-haired woman said. "I asked you to explain this mark on your hand. Do so."

_"Like I said,"_ Nanyehi hissed, "I can't. I don't know what it is. I don't know how it got here. But Creators know I wouldn't inflict _this much pain_ on myself or put my own brother in such danger – "

"You're lying!" the warmaiden yelled, taking Nanyehi by the shoulders and giving her a hard shake; Nanyehi's teeth cracked together. Then the redhead grabbed the warmaiden's arm and forcefully backed her away from Nanyehi with words Nani couldn't hear. "It's the same story, Leliana," the black-haired woman spat. "Do you honestly believe both elves have no idea what happened at the Conclave? Bullshit!"

"Let me handle this, Cassandra," the redhead – Leliana – said, approaching Nanyehi. "No more lies. Do you remember what happened? How this began? I suggest you try to."

Nanyehi searched her memories, trying not to watch Cassandra as the woman paced behind Leliana, her face a mixture of anger and agony. Flickers came back to Nani briefly, brushing around the edges of her mind like the last remnants of a bad dream, and she let them pour out of her mouth before she forgot them. "Running. Things chasing me. Green…so much green. Fear. _Despair_. My hand burning. A…a woman."

"A woman?" Leliana crossed her arms over her chest.

"She reached out to me," Nanyehi said. Another pulse of fear coursed through her blood, as if in reaction to whatever she was remembering tiny bits of. She tried to remember who the woman was, but couldn't reach any farther into the recollection. "Our hands…almost…"

Leliana's face crumpled.

Cassandra intercepted them then, backing Leliana away with a surprisingly gentle touch. "Go to the forward camp, Leliana," she said. "I'll take her to the rift."

A bead of water from the leaking ceiling splashed onto Nanyehi's forehead, trickling down her nose, and she tried to wipe her face on her sleeve. Cassandra knelt in front of her, the woman's brown eyes full of confusion and anguish. Nanyehi met her gaze, hoping the woman would see her innocence, her _pain_. Cassandra could not be without sympathy.

"Please," Nanyehi choked out, her brows knitting together, "explain what's going on. Tell me how to fix this."

Cassandra's eyes softened then.

"It will be easier to show you," she said, taking Nani's elbow and lifting her to her feet. "Perhaps seeing the rift itself will jog your memory." She led Nanyehi through the Chantry, her boots pounding on the stone floor. Mercifully, she slowed her pace so Nani's stride could match hers. "Your brother claims he saw you fall out of the Fade rift, unconscious. A couple of our warriors have attested to the same thing."

"Do you honestly believe I caused the explosion?" Nani asked.

Cassandra hesitated. "I do not know," she said as they reached the main doors. "Someone is to blame. I know that much."

Two guards opened the double doors for them, and Nanyehi's cloth-wrapped feet stung as she stepped onto the icy dirt path outside of the Chantry. The glare of the bright winter sun hurt her eyes, but she forced herself to look up at the sky, gasping as she did so. Above the mountain was a gaping wound in the sky, a green chasm filled with miasmic light and chunks of floating rock, spitting flares of greenish light in all directions every few seconds.

Cassandra's quizzical look told Nani that the woman had caught her surprised reaction, and was in turn just as surprised.

"We call it the Breach," Cassandra explained, keeping a hand on Nanyehi's back so she didn't keel over. "It grows larger each passing hour. If we do not do something to stop it, all manner of demons could cross from the Fade into this world."

Well…shite.

"The Fade?" Nanyehi asked.

"Ah," Cassandra said. "You are Dalish. I've heard it called the Beyond for you. It is the same." She looked down at Nanyehi. "It is not the only such rift. Just the largest. All caused by the explosion at the Conclave."

Nani had no idea a simple explosion could do such a thing. She'd seen Finn's ice magic explode into twisted ice shards, seen booming fire and spitting lightning, but nothing anywhere near to this. She couldn't even comprehend how one would manufacture such an explosion.

"This one could grow until it swallows the world," Cassandra said, her eyes narrowing.

As if on cue, a column of light sizzled below the Breach, briefly reaching for the ground, and Nanyehi's mark reacted, exploding in pain. She shrieked and stumbled, falling to her knees in the dirty snow. Cold sweat beaded on her brow. The green light swelled on her hand, crackling around it, and she pressed her hands to her belly in a desperate attempt to smother the mark.

"I'm sorry," Cassandra said, kneeling. "I did not realize how much pain you're in. Each time the Breach expands, so does that mark…and it is killing you. "

"Why would I do this to myself?" Nani whimpered. " _Why?_ Maybe you believe I'm heartless enough to murder hundreds of people, but do you honestly believe I'd put myself in _agony?"_

Cassandra didn't answer. She looked torn.

"That mark may be the key to stopping this," she finally said. "We haven't much time. If you are willing to work with me to close the Breach, I can promise you a fair trial."

"And Finn?" Nanyehi asked. "My brother?"

"Him as well," Cassandra said.

"Then I'll do anything," Nani said. "Take me to it."


	3. Vanquisher of Rifts

Finn twirled his staff above his head, sending frost raining down on a lesser shade. The creature froze where it had been sliding purposefully towards him, its movements arrested for the remainder of its now miniscule lifespan – the ice around it shattered, taking it along in the minor explosion, and the demon faded into a puff of smoke on the snow below it.

"Nice one, Frosty," Varric said, hoisting his shiny, metallic crossbow onto his back. Bianca, he called it. Frequently. Finn couldn't fathom why. "Now I see why Cassandra let you go."

_Let him go_ was a bit of an overstatement; Cassandra's words to Finn were that he was to help the forces hold Haven against the demons, and that if he happened to kick the bucket during combat, she'd probably have a nice drink and consider it karma. Not her exact words, but still. Finn wasn't exactly _free_ , not with all of these warriors watching him from every angle – not to mention they still had his sister in custody. That, and the fact that Leliana would shank him personally if he tried to make a run for it.

He regarded the dwarf with a crooked half-smile. "Frosty, is it? I have a real name, you know."

"Damn elven names," Varric said. "Too hard to pronounce."

"But it's _Finn_. One syllable."

"If I were you, Finirial," Solas said, resting the butt of his staff on the ground, "I would take his choice of nickname as a fortunate outcome and leave it be, lest he think up another one for you."

Ah, right. Solas, the bald apostate elf with stormy blue eyes, a soft-spoken manner, and a penchant for spirit magic, had been dubbed "Chuckles" for some odd reason. Finn supposed "Frosty" was a stroke of good luck in that regard.

"Don't see any more demons coming our way, for the time being," Varric said, looking up at the rift in the middle of the iced-over ruins. "Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons for the rest of our lives."

"That depends entirely on whose arse you're talking about," Finn said.

"Cassandra's," Varric said with a laugh.

"So you'd be chin-deep in demons, then," Finn said.

"You're no giant yourself, Frosty," Varric reminded him.

Finn leaned on his own staff and dutifully watched the rift, waiting for the next wave of demons. It was inevitable; they'd been coming steadily for the couple of days he'd been out here with Solas and Varric, and with no way to close this green scar in the sky, well…they'd just keep coming.

"On your guard," Solas warned them, gripping his staff and readying it. "I sense more coming."

Solas was right, of course – not a minute later a couple shades and several floating wisps descended from the rift. Finn jumped into action, firing ice bolts at one of the shades until it quivered and sank into the ground. He'd forgotten to watch his back in that moment; he heard the shriek of a wisp behind him, and as he turned to knock his staff into its ethereal form, he saw one of Bianca's bolts rip through it and dissolve it mid-swing.

"Thanks!" Finn shouted, focusing on the next demon.

On top of the stairs leading down to the ruins he saw two forms emerge, then heard what he absolutely wasn't expecting: Cassandra yelling "they need help!" and running down the ridge, leaping into the fray like a madwoman. Upon closer inspection, he realized the second form was his little sister: pale, hair tangled, but already firing arrows from a flimsy-looking bow. Finn breathed a sigh of relief.

That was, of course, until he saw a shade emerge clawing from the ground just in front of Nanyehi, who didn't have any melee weapons to defend herself.

He started to run for her, but she had already grabbed a thin, splintered log in her hands and swung it at the shade, knocking it at least partially away from her. Finn followed up with an ice bolt, and the creature dissipated, melting back into the ground.

"Finn!" she said, looking up at him in shock. "You're…all right? And not in chains?"

"They figured Frosty would be more useful with the defense efforts!" Varric answered, cradling Bianca in two hands like an infant and striding over to the both of them. Finn vaguely saw Cassandra and Solas finish off the last two demons.

"Nani," Finn said with a smile, wrapping his arms around her small form for just a brief moment and swinging her in a circle.

Even when they'd both been prominent members in their clan in the Free Marches, Finn and Nani had always had sort of an _us-against-the-world_ mentality; it didn't much matter that Nani had already led countless hunting parties and Finn was in line to be the clan's keeper. It didn't matter that Finn could get along with just about anyone, so long as he didn't reveal too much about himself. No matter what, they had each other, someone who always had their back and understood their deepest secrets. Holding her now, Finn realized he'd felt rather empty without his little sister there. She squeezed his neck tight with a happy little laugh, then let him go…

And was promptly half-urged, half-carted over to the rift by Solas.

"Quickly!" Solas said, obviously not one for formalities. "Before more come through!"

And then he took Nanyehi's wrist in his hand and lifted her left hand high, pointing her palm directly at the rift. Finn saw her shield her eyes with her free hand, her right one, as pulsing green light funneled from her hand to the rift, and the scar in the air exploded, dissolving like fine mist, electric tingling coursing down Finn's back and raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

"Andraste's tits," Varric said.

"Creators' holy balls," Finn breathed, shaking his head and staring at the now empty void where the rift had been.

Cassandra sighed loudly.

"You know," Varric said, looking up at Finn, "I think I'm going to like you just fine."

Nanyehi seemed only shocked for a moment; then she whirled, turning on Solas with an accusatory look in her turquoise eyes. "What in the world was that?" she said. "What did you do? How – "

"A hunch," Solas said with the slightest of smiles. "I did nothing. The credit is yours."

"It can't be mine," she said, shaking her head vehemently. "Whatever just happened had to do with this… _thing_." She lifted her hand palm-up, regarding it. "That hurt. But it was worth it."

"Whatever magic opened that breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand," Solas said. "I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the breach's wake – and it seems I was correct."

"That's quite the wild hunch," Finn said.

"Hold a moment," Cassandra said, striding closer, looking aggressive and determined, her dark eyes narrow. "This means that mark could also close the breach itself."

"Possibly." Solas folded his hands together. "It seems, Nanyehi, that you alone hold the key to our salvation."

Nani pursed her lips. "It seems that way, doesn't it?" she said. A short flurry of snowflakes passed by them as she looked up, narrow-eyed, where the rift had been, the white wisps sticking to her hair, looking like little snowdrops in cranberry jam. Finn _might_ have been a tad hungry at this point. "Finn told you my name?" she guessed.

"More than that," Varric said. "He told us your name, your weight, your first words as a baby, your dress size, and the precise color of your smallclothes." He did a mock bow. "Varric Tethras, at your service. Rogue, storyteller, and occasional unwelcome tagalong."

"I'm definitely getting the storyteller part," Nanyehi said. "There's no way Finn knows half of that crap."

"Periwinkle," Finn said.

Nanyehi shot him a glare, then turned back to Varric. "So, Varric…you're with the Chantry? That seems unusual."

"Was that a serious question?" Solas said with a chuckle.

All right, Finn was starting to see the reason for the nickname.

"Technically speaking, I'm a prisoner," Varric said, eyeing Cassandra briefly. "Just like you two. Although at least we're through with the hand-binding, threatening, throwing-in-reinforced-rooms stage."

Cassandra sighed again. "I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. She would have appreciated your knowledge of River Hawke after the woman survived the events of Kirkwall and started a _worldwide mage rebellion_. Clearly, that is no longer necessary."

"Yet, here I am." The dwarf tossed his hands in the air. "Still stumbling headfirst into the weirdest shit possible. Lucky for you, considering current events."

When Finn glanced at Cassandra, he saw her draw a breath, getting ready to unleash something on Varric that Finn _could_ have stopped; he didn't, figuring that making Cassandra angry would result in both him and Nani being clapped in chains once more, if they were fortunate. "Your help is appreciated, Varric," Cassandra said, "but – "

"Ha!" Varric snorted. "Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren't even in control anymore. _You need me."_

Cassandra made another disgusted noise and strode away.

"It is good to see you awake and well, Nanyehi," Solas said, breaking the silence. "My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live."

"He means _I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,"_ Varric filled in.

Nanyehi smiled, crossing her slender arms over her chest. "If that's the case, Solas, then I should thank you. I really wasn't ready to die so young." She cocked her head. "You seem to know a great deal about… a great deal."

"Solas is an apostate, much like your brother," Cassandra informed them from where she stood, one foot resting on a wet chunk of rubble. She looked annoyed that their introductions lasted longer than two seconds.

Finn was well aware that humans considered Dalish mages like him to be dangerous, wild creatures that needed to be corralled in a Circle and saddled with burden and constant Templar supervision. Something like that. The metaphor sounded better before he actually thought the words. To him, it seemed a miracle that Cassandra had actually released him to guard the rift with Solas and Varric; gruff and violent though she was, she'd given him a chance before immediately shipping him off to the Templars. He owed her that much.

"I came to offer whatever help I can with the breach," Solas said. "If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin." He turned to Cassandra, whose entire form was stiffened, her eyes conflicted. "Cassandra, this magic is unlike any I have ever seen. Finirial may be a mage, but I find it difficult to believe _any_ mage would have enough power to cause this. These are not the ones responsible for the crime. I can assure you that much."

"Understood," Cassandra said, nodding gravely.

And with one word, just one word, Finn felt a heavy weight slide off his shoulders. It may not have been much, but if Cassandra was willing to believe he and Nanyehi weren't responsible for the explosion, then their fate might not end in certain death. It was something to hope for.

"Then let's get that damn thing closed," Nani said, bluish fire sparking in her eyes.

"I agree," Cassandra said. "Let's get to the forward camp."


	4. The Hunter and the Battlemage

They'd come to an impasse at the forward camp, and not one Finn was expecting.

No one looked ready to back down. Cassandra's glare matched the sharp steel of her sword, Nanyehi had her skinny arms crossed over her chest, and Leliana's look of cold calculation sent shivers creeping up and down Finn's spine.

"Call a retreat, Seeker," a man in what Finn found to be silly-looking white and red robes said, lifting his grizzled chin high. Roderick, Finn thought he'd heard him call himself…chancellor? "Our position here is hopeless! You think to actually reach that breach with this ragtag bunch of thugs?" He violently jerked his finger towards Nanyehi, who didn't flinch. "With the woman who singlehandedly destroyed a _peace meeting?_ Not to mention two elven apostates and the author of quite literally the most absurd books I've ever read!"

"Admitting you read them is enough for me to go on," Varric said from next to Finn.

"I _have_ to read them now," Finn muttered down to Varric.

"I'll get in touch with my publishers," Varric said.

"She has the best chance of closing the breach," Cassandra said, gesturing to Nanyehi – the force in her voice jolted Finn back to the conversation at hand. "What do you propose we do? Sit here and hope it goes away? We can stop this before it's too late."

"So you plan to take this little group and trek your merry way to the temple without dying?" Chancellor Roderick said. "Preposterous! You must take that _girl_ to Val Royeaux to be hanged for her crimes! And her accomplice brother with her!"

Finn had been called "accomplice" so many times that he was reasonably convinced no one would remember his name after a while, and that he would be referred to as such until the day he died. The tale of Nanyehi Lavellan and Unnamed Accomplice closing the breach would be passed down in history, whispered by excited little children, written in tomes to sit on a library shelf – provided they _did_ close the breach, after all. If they didn't, well…Unnamed Accomplice would be an unnamed corpse in the snow.

Delightful.

"You _will not_ order me," Cassandra snarled. "Taking them to the temple is the most direct route and the quickest, and it's what we will do. Our soldiers out on the battlefield will give us what aid they can."

"It's not the safest, Cassandra." Leliana shook her head. "Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains. It's a tricky path, but I have no doubt we can use it."

Finn saw Nanyehi look up at the path, quietly calculating. He knew what she'd say – that rushing headfirst into battle would be a fool's errand, and that a distraction would be a solid plan. No Dalish hunting party ever charged into battle with swords raised over their heads and war-screams on their lips, after all. (Except, of course, for the Battle of Denerim during the Fifth Blight ten years ago, which was the single most strange battle Finn had ever been in…but that was a long time ago.) Subtlety, stealth, precision: those were their ways. And Nani was nothing if not an accomplished hunter.

Cassandra snorted. "We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It's much too risky. And I do not appreciate the use of our soldiers as live bait to throw demons off our path."

"And so we abandon our scouts?" Leliana retorted.

Chancellor Roderick, meanwhile, looked like he'd had enough of the whole predicament. "Enough!" he said. "Listen to me! Abandon this now before more lives are lost!"

"You mean _human_ lives," Nanyehi said, frowning. "No one cares about the three elves and the dwarf. We're perfectly good demon-fodder."

"Listen here – " Chancellor Roderick began.

"Fool," Solas snarled at the chancellor. "If we bury our faces in the ground, the breach will swallow us whole."

As if on cue, the sky rumbled above them, and the breach spat out a couple meteorites of green light and chunky rock. Nanyehi stumbled and clutched her left hand to her belly, pain contorting her fair features. The light flared brightly off her hand, nearly blinding Finn; he wanted to block his eyes, but instead he cupped a hand under Nani's elbow, trying to hold her steady.

"I'm _fine_ , Finn," she said, shaking her head. "I can handle it."

Caught off guard, Finn dropped his hand.

"All this bickering will get us nowhere," Cassandra said, turning to Nanyehi. "We must decide on our course of action _now_."

"What?" Nani said, looking surprised. "You're asking me? I thought I was the _prisoner_ , not the advisor."

"You have the mark, do you not?" Solas pointed out.

Cassandra nodded. "As Solas said, _you_ have the power to close the breach, and _you_ are the one we need to keep alive. The rest of us are expendable in that regard. And since none of us can come to an agreement, an outside voice may solve matters."

Finn already knew what Nani would say. She was a ranger, a hunter, a scout – she would not abandon what she considered a hunting party just for the sake of charging alongside a human force. She hadn't fought in battles like Finn had, hadn't stood side-by-side with human warriors and known their lives were in each others' hands.

"We take the path," she said, looking up at the sky and dropping her afflicted hand to her side.

"Makes sense," Varric said.

"Nani, _wait_ ," Finn said. "I know we're not demon-fodder, but why do those soldiers have to be? They've got lives too. _Families_. We should be out there with them. Leliana's capable – let her search for the missing scouts."

"No _shemlen_ would sacrifice himself for one of us," she said, cocking her head and looking at Finn with confusion in her eyes. He knew she didn't understand, knew by the tiniest scrunching between her eyebrows, knew by the way she looked at him but barely really _saw_ him. "Why should I throw away practicality for one of them? We take the scouts' route."

"As you say," Cassandra said with a soft sigh.

As the group began walking, Finn hesitated, his shoulders stiffening. Then Varric grabbed his arm, looking up at him.

"There's a story to all this, isn't there?" the dwarf said. "Why you're perfectly comfortable around humans when your sister looks ready to jump out of her skin."

"There is," Finn said. "Maybe once we're reasonably certain we won't end up as dead little flakes of dust on the ground, then I'll tell you."

* * *

The sight of the temple gave Finn a strange, unpleasant sense of nostalgia. He could vividly remember tearing through the ruined hallways, through the morbid rows of burning, petrified corpses, smelling the raw odors of fire and decay, watching his little sister's unconscious body tumble out through an opening into the Beyond. He remembered the choking fear that he'd truly lost her, that all his efforts to protect her and ensure her a normal life in their clan had been in vain, that he'd failed after all.

How much things had changed in a couple days.

Here now, in front of him, suspended over the flat ground below them, was the very rift that had spat out his sister. He saw Nanyehi staring at it with a hint of pain in her eyes that he knew only _he_ could detect.

"You made it!" he heard behind him, and saw Leliana jogging towards them, bow at the ready.

"Barely," Varric said. "We were greeted along the way by more rifts, demons, and generally unpleasant things that didn't bother returning a cheery hello."

"That's what I'd call a Monday," Finn said, shrugging.

"Tuesday," Varric said, looking nostalgic for just a moment. "Hawke always said Tuesday."

"Can we do it?" Nanyehi said, gesturing to the rift. "Can we close this? Make things right?"

"That is entirely up to you," Cassandra said. "Your mark is the only thing that has power against these rifts, after all. But I believe we can win ourselves a victory today."

"Indeed." Solas looked down at Nanyehi. "This rift is closed at the moment, but not entirely _stable_. If you re-open it and seal it, you could stabilize it for good. And considering this appears to be the rift that started the breach, sealing this one could have a monumental effect."

"I'm ready," Nani said, staring down at her hand. "For whatever comes."

"Leliana, position your men along the railings where they can shoot down onto the ground," Cassandra instructed. "Re-opening the rift will mean demons. We must stand ready. I will take the five of us down and confront the rift head on."

"I will accompany you," Leliana said gravely.

Cassandra led the way along the stairs, and they made their way around the rim of the flat field where the explosion had been created. A weird ringing filled Finn's ears, and he halted, steadying himself; a moment later, a man's chilling, gravelly voice filled the air around them, vast and cold and devoid of echoes.

_"Bring forth the sacrifice."_

Cassandra stopped, looking up at the sky, spinning as if she could find the source of the voice. "What am I hearing?" she said. "Who is that?"

"We're hearing whoever caused the breach, I presume," Solas filled in.

"It's clearly not Nani," Finn said.

"Oh, I don't know," Nanyehi said, looking back at Finn. "Maybe there's something I haven't told you?"

He smiled slightly. _There_ was a trace of the little sister he used to know before this nonsense had happened. But her wry look was gone in an instant, and once more she seemed jaded and in a great deal of pain. With squared shoulders she resumed their jog around the walkway, only stopping to study the weird rocks cropping up along the path. Finn noticed them too: odd, pulsating rocks the color of blood, sticking up in thick stalagmites along the edges of the path, like a red cancer inflicting the black rock faces.

"These aren't rocks," Nanyehi noted, reaching unsteady fingers towards them.

Solas jerked his hand forward and snatched hers, pulling it away from the red rocks. She looked startled.

"That's red lyrium," Varric said. "What's it _doing_ here?"

"These mountains are full of natural lyrium deposits," Solas said, keeping his distance from the red lyrium but studying it with keen, curious eyes. "It's possible the magic that created the breach pulled from these lyrium deposits and corrupted them."

"It's possible," Varric agreed. "Either way, don't touch – "

_"Somebody, help me!"_ came a voice from the rift. This one, however, was a woman's – shaking, fluttering, obviously agonized.

Cassandra jolted where she stood, her gaze zeroing in on the rift. "That was Most Holy's voice," she breathed. "By the Maker… What happened?"

_"What's going on here?"_ came another voice.

Nanyehi's.

"So you _were_ there!" Cassandra turned on Nanyehi. "Tell me what happened!"

"I can't remember any of it!" Nanyehi said. Her voice had the slightest catch to it; she was shaken up, and Finn knew it. "Creators, I can't even recall saying that. But there's my voice, clear as day…"

She seemed to make up her mind. With a determined shake of her head, she brushed her hair out of her face and leapt down from the short ledge onto the charred remains of the room the peace talk had been held in, now a scarred, flat, rock-ridden field, bereft of its former majesty. Finn gingerly followed her down, his feet aching when they hit hard against the ground. She didn't seem to notice; she approached the rift like she was in a trance, her head held high.

Translucent shapes manifested at the rift, visions of what once was; Finn saw an old woman suspended in midair with her arms spread-eagled, pinned there by twisting chains of red magic, and in front of her a miasmic cloud of greenish fumes with glowing red spots for eyes. Where was this taking place? A room? In the Beyond, obviously, but… Finn saw a door to the side open up, saw Nanyehi's clear form burst into the room and her eyes widen in horror. The old woman suspended in front of the shifting cloud-man turned her head to look at Nanyehi, her eyes crinkling in a sort of desperate relief. Then the image snapped, fizzled away, and Cassandra jumped down from the ledge, looking at Nanyehi.

"Most Holy was calling out to _you_ for help," she said. "I was… I was wrong…"

"It's all right," Finn said hastily.

Nani gave Finn a look, obviously confused by his rapid response. "Tell me what to do, Cassandra," she said.

"Of course," the warmaiden said, resuming her air of collected control. "You need to focus on the rift. Ignore any demons that come out of it. We'll keep them off you. Your duty must be to close it, no matter how much willpower it takes."

" _Ma nuvenin_ ," Nanyehi said. "But I will say one thing: if I see Finn about to fall, I'm focusing on him. _Keep him safe_."

With that final announcement, she strode to the rift, lifted her hand, and braced herself. Green light sucked from the scar and funneled to her hand, and with a tremendous boom, the rift opened and thrust something past Nanyehi; her hair whipped about as she ducked her head to shield herself. The _something_ writhed and materialized, forming a massive demon easily the size of twenty stacked halla – not that Finn knew how large halla were when stacked. The demon threw its horned head back and let loose an earth-shaking roar, hard muscle and sinew rippling beneath its grey, scaly skin.

"Pride demon!" Solas warned.

"Take it down!" Cassandra cried, unsheathing her sword with a sharp metallic ring.

Finn pulled his staff from the bindings at his back and drew deep from his mana reserves, sending a bolt of frost the demon's way. It shrugged off the attack like Finn had pegged it with a kitten instead of an ice bolt, then swung its massive arm at Cassandra, who narrowly dodged the blow. Bianca's bolts and Leliana's arrows glanced off the demon's hide and clattered to the ground, and Solas's attacks diffused like clouds of mist.

Not an easy fight, this. Finn was reminded of the one time he'd encountered a great bear while walking by himself near his clan's camp. He tried the rapidfire approach, his staff moving like a blur as he shot multiple bolts the demon's way, but they barely seemed to have an effect. The demon's skin must've been heavily armored, he realized with dismay.

With a dark, rattling cackle, the demon whipped a lightning arc through several of Leliana's archers; the men's armor wasn't enough to take the blast, and they fell in a heap of sparking bodies. Finn tried not to curse, failed, and let loose a stream of unsavory words.

Did a demon this massive _really_ need a full command of lightning magic?

He saw Nanyehi brace herself, her hand raised, _pulling_ against the rift, and a sharp pop made Finn's ears ring; the giant demon fell to one knee and hung its head, the ground rumbling beneath it.

"It's vulnerable!" Cassandra shouted from next to the demon. "Its guard is down!"

_Perfect_.

Finn thrust his hands out in front of him and shot out a long shard of ice, and the demon's grunt of pain might have been the most satisfying noise he'd heard all day. Arrows and bolts sank into the creature's hide, making it look like a massive, ugly pincushion, and Solas's magic erupted around it; despite all this, the demon struggled to its feet, raised its scythed arm high, and swung it in Varric's direction. Cassandra shielded him at the last moment, taking the full force of the blow.

"Seeker!" Solas yelled as Cassandra tumbled a few feet, her shield landing on top of her. She was still for a few seconds, then pressed her hand against the rocky ground, trying to rise. The pride demon stood tall and shimmered, and Finn realized it was re-focusing its guard.

If Cassandra took more hits like that, she might not make it through this fight.

It wouldn't be easy, but Finn knew what he had to do.

"Trust me, Nani!" he yelled, gripping his staff tight in his right hand and running for the demon. He saw her glance at him, nod gravely, and continue to brace herself and focus on distorting the rift. Finn barreled past Solas, who narrowly dodged out of the way. "Solas," Finn said, skidding to a stop, "I'm going to need your barrier!"

He didn't wait for Solas's verbal response; the surge of magic, the clear blue crackling of a barrier forming around him and seeping into his skin, was enough. Finn leapt right into the demon's line of sight.

In theory, he'd trained for moments like this ever since he'd become the Keeper's First. He'd studied the Pantheon, studied lore and mythology, pored over everything he could on the elven language, practiced as many fields of magic as he possibly could. The legends of the elven arcane warriors of old who practiced  _dirth'ena enasalin_ , the battlemages who could combine the powers of their mana and their barriers in perfect synergy until the two gave each other life, had always fascinated him.

In practice…the last time he'd attempted the technique, he'd been gored by a bear.

No more time to think. Finn twirled his staff, smacking the bloodstone blade at the end of it into the demon's hide with a burst of ice shards. Magic from mana, barrier from magic, strength from barrier. As he twisted out of the way of a stomp that would have crushed him flat, he felt the barrier's power surging around him, strengthening with each blast of ice. He was mere feet from the massive demon, but he didn't let himself consider the size, not while he was in trampling range like this. Cassandra was up and fighting again, her shield at the ready, her sword making silvery metallic arcs in the air as she swung, but the demon had already turned its focus to Finn.

If he could keep it off the rest of them, absorb its attacks until Nani could strip its guard again, they'd have a fighting chance.

_Hold_ , Finn begged the barrier – never mind that it seemed silly to beg something inanimate – as he spun and walloped the demon with more ice. _Vir Bor'assan… Bend, but never –_

The demon's arm raised, and it arced a lightning whip directly at Finn.

_– break._

Everything shuddered, shivered, knocked about like a ship in a stormy sea. Finn's teeth cracked together, his bones rattled, his legs stumbled against the quaking earth. That blow had felt like a boulder falling on top of him.

But he wasn't dead. And the barrier held.

The rift popped again, and the demon fell to one knee. Cassandra's blade sank deep into its gut, and one of Bianca's bolts whistled straight into the demon's eye socket. In just a few seconds, the tide of the battle turned dramatically to their favor; Finn took a step back and unleashed a ball of fire, feeling the inferno's magic feed into his barrier and strengthen it once more. The archers around the rim clearly felt the same change that Finn had; many of them let out triumphant war cries and fired faster, straighter, riddling the demon with arrows until it sank fully to the ground and shattered like broken glass.

The labored hissing of Nanyehi's breath caught Finn's attention even more than the rumbling of the world around them as she yanked the rift shut and fell back on her rear.

Everything calmed, sinking into blissful stillness. Finn leaned heavily on his staff, panting, as surveyed the battlefield. Leliana regarded them all with a careful look and set about gathering her remaining archers. Solas and Varric stood next to each other, mostly unharmed save for a few nasty-looking scrapes; Varric didn't say anything about Cassandra shielding him from the demon's arm, but the grateful look on his face said more than words ever could. Then Solas left Varric and jogged over to Nanyehi. Cassandra, near Finn, stared at Finn so intently that he almost needed to look away.

"You…" she started, shaking her head, like she didn't believe what she'd seen. "You, a mage, threw yourself in front of an attack that _killed_ some of our men. And _lived_."

" _Dirth'ena enasalin_ ," Solas said. Now he had Nanyehi's arm over his shoulders and appeared to be supporting much of her weight. She looked exhausted, her left hand a blackened, sizzling mess. "The battle magic of the arcane warrior. An ancient elven technique. I am not surprised that Finirial knows of it."

Finn would have rushed to support his sister – Creators knew he couldn't fathom the amount of agony the mark caused – but he found himself too exhausted to do so.

"Creators, Finn," Nani breathed. "Are you all right? You haven't tried that since – "

Since the incident with the great bear. Since Finn's naïve enthusiasm had gotten him a claw gash to the face and multiple puncture wounds in his abdomen and neck. Since he'd nearly bled to death a year ago.

Finn cleared his throat, catching his breath. "Of course I'm all right," he said. "Are you? Your mark – "

"I'll be fine, Finn. The pain has subsided." She set her jaw stubbornly. "I'd rather talk about that insane plan of yours."

That had always been Nanyehi's way, to diminish pain by pretending it didn't exist. What right did Finn have to take it away from her? "I had to decide on it fast," Finn said. "It was… Well. Interesting."

"Interesting," Varric repeated. "Frosty throws himself in front of a pride demon, wearing little more than a tunic and breeches, takes a damn lightning whip to the face, and calls it _interesting_." He whistled. "I'm writing a book about you, kid."

"Just don't give it a shitty title," Finn said, then coughed into his sleeve.

"I have heard of mages called knight-enchanters," Cassandra mentioned. "Their barrier techniques, from what I've heard, are similar to yours…and the Chantry gives them special permission to practice this magic in battle." The slightest ghost of a smile crept onto her face. "Since I became certain of your and your sister's innocence, I have been wracking my brain to think of ways to prevent the Templars from taking you in for apostasy. Now I know. If we find you formal training, and grant you dispensation…we can be assured of your freedom from arrest. And since Nanyehi is no mage, no dispensation of any sort will be required."

"Wait," Nanyehi said, pulling away from Solas and steadying herself. "You're…certain of our innocence? What about only promising us a trial? What about – "

Something about not looking a gift halla in the mouth came to mind.

" – As I said," Cassandra interrupted, "I am now certain of your innocence. Not only did I hear Most Holy call out to you for help in the vision…but the both of you just willingly participated in one of the hardest fights I've seen in quite some time." Only the subtle way she pressed a hand to her side and sucked in a breath belied the fact that she was probably in great pain from her fall. "If you would both accompany me back to Haven, I have something I want to do. _Need_ to do. And I would greatly appreciate your help with it."

Finn looked at Nanyehi. She looked over at him. They were both safe now, freed from guilty charges, fully able to return to their clan. They could pretend none of this had ever happened. Nanyehi could go back to leading hunting parties, and Finn could resume his studies until the time came when he would take up the position of Keeper. He knew Nanyehi didn't care a lick for _shemlen_.

"I… I think it's the right thing to do," Nanyehi said, her eyes focused on Finn even though she spoke to Cassandra. "This breach, let alone whoever _caused_ it, could very well destroy everything, even our clan, and I… I can't let that happen." She lifted her chin. "Finn and I will accompany you. As allies."

Finn found himself smiling just as wide as Cassandra did.

"Then let us return to Haven," the warmaiden said. "We've a lot to discuss."


	5. What Came Before, and What Comes Next

Now inside the Chantry, Finn leaned heavily on his staff to keep himself from falling asleep and dropping to the floor like a sack of rotten tomatoes. It didn't matter much that it was only mid-afternoon outside; his eyes fluttered, straining to stay open, and he caught himself swaying a few times. The warm, buttery orange light of the wall lanterns reflecting off the wooden walls themselves didn't help Finn stay awake _at all._

Attempting those _dirth'ena_   _enasalin_ techniques had left him utterly drained.

He, Nani, and Cassandra stood around a heavy wooden table, and Cassandra brushed her chin with one hand, studying ornate onyx markers on the table's knotty surface and frowning occasionally at their position. Finn jolted when the door behind him slammed open, and Leliana and Chancellor Roderick strode into the room.

"This is _preposterous_ ," Chancellor Roderick fumed, marching right up to Cassandra and waving his hand around, finger pointed accusingly, like he was trying to stir up a fierce windstorm with just his own motions. "I _order you_ to take these criminals to Val Royeaux!" He turned his bluster to the two guards at the door. "Chain the elves."

"He could at least treat us to a nice dinner date before he starts with the chains," Finn whispered to Nanyehi.

She halfheartedly swatted him.

"Disregard that," Cassandra said, dismissing the two guards with a wave of her hand. They saluted and left the doorway. "I heard the voices in the temple, chancellor. You were not there. You did not hear Most Holy call out to Lady Lavellan for help."

Chancellor Roderick sneered. "She is the only one to survive the blast, she falls out of the Breach _unharmed_ , and you mean to call this _coincidence?"_

"Providence," Cassandra said. "The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Nanyehi said, waving her hands about defensively in front of her. If any more hands were waved, Finn thought deliriously, they might stir up a tornado in Haven's Chantry and demolish the entire village. "I'm not… I don't even believe in the _shemlen_ god. Dalish, remember? Your Maker wouldn't have sent someone like me."

Both Cassandra and Leliana frowned disapprovingly.

"See?" the chancellor said. "Even your 'chosen one' thinks this is all hogwash."

Cassandra just chuckled, turned around, and plucked a heavy book off an end table behind her. Then she plopped the book on the main table with a tremendous thunk. Finn spied a strange design on the cover, a stylized white eye with flames all around it. Either it represented a religious motif…or a bad eye infection. Hopefully the first. Lesser of two evils.

"This," Cassandra said, "is a writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act in the case of her absence, as I am sure you're aware. And I believe now we have ample justification to act. The Breach is stable, but still a threat, and I will not ignore it. Lady Lavellan's mark is our only hope of closing it, and she will need as much support as we can give her."

Recognition dawned in the chancellor's eyes. "You intend to begin the Inquisition."

That sounded ominous.

"What you should be doing is arresting these criminals!" Chancellor Roderick continued, gesturing at Nanyehi and Finn. "The people want justice for what's been done, not a new Inquisition!"

"It has become clear that these two did not start the Breach," Leliana said calmly.

"I am not going to stand around wasting time with petty trials and false accusations when we now have our course of action before us!" Cassandra snapped, lifting the book and slamming it for good measure. "We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn."

"I cannot approve of this!" the chancellor said.

Leliana's laugh was dark and cold. "You assume we _need_ your approval, Chancellor Roderick."

The man looked at all of them with an expression of grim disbelief. Then he turned and strode out of the room.

"I think he exists purely to rile me up," Cassandra said, rubbing the back of her neck and scowling.

"Maybe he should be getting a salary for doing his job so well," Finn tried.

Cassandra smiled slightly.

Nanyehi looked down at her hand, rubbing her left palm with her thumb and squinting. "What's our course of action?" she asked. "Our words won't mean much if we don't back them up."

"I will dispatch birds with our declaration when I have a moment," Leliana said, clasping her hands behind her back. She nodded in the direction of the book on the table. "What Cassandra is referring to is the Divine's directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos." She paced a few steps. "This will take time and work. We aren't ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support."

"Doesn't Cassandra lead?" Finn asked. "Or am I missing something?"

"None of us have stepped up as leaders, it is true," Cassandra said. "And I don't believe I would be fit for it. Leliana, if you would send your messages with the birds, I will brief Lady Lavellan with Cullen and Josephine. We must not tarry."

"Of course," Leliana said. She glanced at Finn, her keen, grayish blue eyes piercing through him. "Finirial, is it? Why don't you accompany me?"

"I can do that," Finn said. He was too tired to wonder why she'd asked.

He matched his stride with Leliana's as they left the building and followed the dirt path down to a large tent erected just down the hill from the Chantry. Keeping up with her was a lot easier than keeping up with some of the male guards around here; while the top of Finn's head only reached most of the men's noses, he and Leliana were about the same size. She approached an iron cage with two squawking ravens inside and reached for the locks, her gloved hands working nimbly on the lock.

"You were there, yes?" she asked him as the lock opened with a click. "Denerim. The fifth Blight. Ten years ago. I saw you amongst the Dalish."

Finn stopped, staring at her. Yes, he saw it now; a petite rogue with cropped red hair and a longbow, decked out in supple leather armor, her fair skin marred only by a few scuffs and scrapes. This was one of the women he'd seen accompanying the Hero of Ferelden when the Archdemon attempted to lay waste to the country. He barely remembered her, but now that he thought about it, she didn't even look like she'd aged in the decade since the battle. She just looked…colder. Sadder.

"I was there," he said. "My clan sent me and a few hunters to aid the clans down south. The Keeper gave me my _vallaslin_ early, if I recall correctly. So I could join the fight as an adult and protect the hunters with my magic." He shifted his weight onto one hip. "I'm surprised you remember seeing me."

"I never forget a face," she said. "It helps that your _vallaslin_ is so noticeable. Blue as a robin's egg."

She scrawled a message on a thin slip of parchment, then securely fastened the strip to one of the raven's legs. The bird hopped up onto her shoulder and remained there, its beady red eye staring sidelong at Finn.

"Tell me," she said, "do you remember any of the Wardens?"

Finn thought for a moment.

"Barely," he said, being vague. "I think I heard the Hero of Ferelden became Queen. And that Alistair Theirin is King. That's really all I know, unfortunately."

"There were five Wardens, you may recall," Leliana said, reaching for the second raven. "Let's see if I can jog your memory. The woman you spoke of, the Hero of Ferelden? That was my dear friend Palla Cousland. _Is_ my dear friend. And you already mentioned King Alistair." She paused, writing a message for the second raven as it perched on her opposite shoulder. "Do you remember a Dalish woman? Small little thing. Dark skin, brown hair with several braids in it. Grey _vallaslin_."

Every Dalish elf in Ferelden at the time had been aware of one of their own in the Warden ranks. Finn, being young at the time and especially enthusiastic about the whole deal, had been beside himself with excitement that a Dalish could help save the world. He'd only caught a glimpse of her a couple times, but he remembered her.

Shesi Mahariel had, after all, been his first – and only – crush on a woman. It had probably been akin to hero worship back then, but it hadn't mattered to his younger self.

"I remember Warden Mahariel," he said, still being vague.

"As expected." Leliana nodded. "Now… Do you recall either of the mages? A human enchanter and an elven healer?"

Finn shook his head. "Why do you ask?"

Leliana fastened the second message to the second raven, letting it hop about on her right arm. "I am not asking you this to reminisce," she said with a sigh. "Truth be told, I was curious if your clan had come across signs of the Wardens. If they knew where they are."

A stray snowflake settled on Finn's nose; he brushed it off. "They're missing, then?"

"Yes." Both birds still perched on her, Leliana strode away, and Finn followed. "I lost contact with Shesi years ago. My only guess is that she and Zevran disappeared to keep the Crows off them…but she is not the only one. Palla and the two mages I spoke of, Corvis Nalida and Ellairia Surana, disappeared at the same time a few months back. Corvis has been Warden-Commander of Ferelden's Grey Wardens, you see, but when I wrote to them to ask about him, I received no response. King Alistair returned my letter, but it seems he does not know where his wife is." She frowned. "Or, at least, he says he doesn't know. Something seemed off about his letter. I believe he knows more than he's letting on. Either way, he won't _tell_ me what's happened. It's all very frustrating."

"And you think these disappearances have something to do with each other?" Finn asked.

Leliana raised her arms and urged the crows into the sky; they took off with a beating of wings.

"They _must_ ," she said. "Ferelden's Queen, Warden-Commander, and a prominent Warden healer do not merely go missing on the same day without there being an explanation. And there is more. The Orlesian Wardens appear to be gone as well. Most troubling news."

" _All_ of them?" Finn asked. "Orlesian _and_ Fereldan?"

She nodded. "All."

"I'm sorry, but I haven't heard any mentions," Finn said. He shifted his feet again; the cloth wrapping didn't do much to keep the snow off his feet, and he could feel the sharp sting of the chill. "My clan would've been talking about it for days if Warden Mahariel went through the area…not to mention the Queen of Ferelden or an _entire_ group of Wardens."

Leliana squared her shoulders. "No matter." She looked like she'd brushed off her wonderings, but Finn caught a bit of turmoil in her eyes. "There is another lead we can follow. I've received word of another Warden nearby by the name of Blackwall. He is in the Hinterlands, I've been informed. I think it would be wise of us to investigate with him. He may be able to explain these disappearances."

"And who will be investigating?" Finn asked.

"You will be," Leliana said.

Huh. Finn cocked his head.

"Now that we've allied with you and your sister, you've both been inducted as Inquisition agents," Leliana explained, tucking a stray bit of strawberry hair back under her hood. "We don't have a leader for any mages at the moment, so for now, you'll work under me. As for your sister… Her mark is the most important weapon we have at the moment. We'll have to accommodate that, and think of a proper position for her." She paused, thinning her lips. "If she is anything like Shesi, it will take a while for her to trust and respect us."

It would. Nanyehi didn't have the experience Finn had with fighting back-to-back with humans and dwarves; you had to drop your prejudices on the battlefield if you wanted to come out alive. Finn could foresee a fair amount of clashing in the Inquisition's future. But Nani would come around. He knew her dislike of humans stemmed from fear and uncertainty, not ethnocentrism.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Leliana said after a moment, when Finn hadn't said anything; he'd been trying to think of what to say. "I know we all appreciate it."

Finn also knew what she _hadn't_ come out and said; if both Lavellan siblings had been anti-human, it would be a royal pain in the arse.

* * *

Nanyehi's eyes lingered on Commander Cullen over the war table, and she felt a twinge of guilt.

At the time, it had been an easy decision to abandon the soldiers fighting at the front lines and to take the safer mountain path to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Unconventional as it was, she'd had to consider her brother, Cassandra, Solas, and Varric as her makeshift hunting party, and that had meant protecting them at all costs. It should have been a simple matter. But Cullen had walked into the war room with a stiffness to his broad shoulders and told Cassandra how many men they'd lost out there, and all of a sudden, it was _real_. Personal. Not just an "oh, well, we may lose people" statement thrown into the wind, but an actual leader standing there and informing them of actual deaths. Lives lost. Bodies lying on the ice fields, left to the whims of the elements.

She was no longer certain she'd made the right decision, and it twisted her belly into knots.

Cassandra and Cullen were still talking, but she couldn't concentrate; the walls around her felt like a prison, made her chest tight and her breaths short with suppressed panic. This Chantry building was too large, to confining for a Dalish hunter who'd never set foot in such a place before.

Finn had it easier, and she thanked the gods for that. If he was suffering right along with her, she might have abandoned the whole cause, flung him over her shoulder, and stampeded out of Haven.

"We will need the Chantry's support, if we are to accomplish anything," Cassandra was saying. "Leliana has informed me of a Revered Mother helping refugees in the Hinterlands. She says this woman is influential in the Chantry, and her voice could give us some sway. "

"Then it would be best to travel to the Hinterlands and seek her out," Cullen said, looking down at Nanyehi. "Would you be amenable, Lady Lavellan?"

Always so polite. Cullen had intimidated Nanyehi at first, being so much taller than her and having a blood-spattered sword at his belt, but he'd been nothing but respectful to her, and that had eased her mind. Not to mention his eyes were warm and brown and welcoming, and he had a sort of crooked half-smile that she found oddly pleasing to look at.

Sighing, Nanyehi scratched at her left palm, trying to ease the discomfort. The burning, rotting sensation had fizzled away since they'd reached Haven, but the idea of putting herself through that amount of agony over and over again made her stomach churn.

But it was the right thing to do, wasn't it? Finn would put himself through it; why couldn't she?

"I will go," she said.

She didn't see the reason for involving the Chantry – why couldn't they just recruit troops who, you know, didn't want the world to end? Not to mention Chantry involvement could be dangerous for apostates like Finn and Solas. But Nanyehi wasn't leading this Inquisition, and Cassandra was a smart, reasonable _shemlen_ ; if she felt Chantry support was necessary, Nani might as well go along.

The war room's door burst open, and in bustled a dark-skinned woman with her ebony hair pinned back in an exquisite braided bun. The woman's arms were laden with documents, a wooden writing board, and a couple of feather quills. When the woman's eyes landed on Nanyehi, she smiled brightly, did a half-bow without dropping anything, and said "Ah! Lady Lavellan. _Andaran atish'an_."

An interesting accent. Rolling, musical, fluid as plucking on guitar strings. Nanyehi couldn't guess where the woman was from. And her eyes were the color of polished amber – dark golden brown, vivid, full of sparkle.

" _Andaran atish'an_ ," Nanyehi returned. "You speak elvish?"

"You've just heard the entirety of it, I'm afraid," the woman said.

Drat. Nanyehi had been hoping at least one of the _shemlen_ here knew elvish. At least Solas spoke it; and, of course, Finn. Her brother had studied so many ancient texts that he knew vastly more phrases than she did, and yet still chose to use curse words like "creators' balls" and "great horny halla." How he kept up his relative fluency was beyond her.

"This is Lady Josephine Montilyet," Cassandra explained, gesturing to the woman. "She handles our diplomatic affairs. I doubt we would exist without her."

"You are too kind, my lady," Josephine said, a dark rosy blush creeping onto her cheeks.

"Josephine, about that meeting – " Cullen began.

"Arranged," Josephine said with a grin. "Two days from now."

"The paperwork – "

"Filled out."

"What about – "

Josephine blinked and smiled sweetly. "All done, Commander Cullen. Don't trouble yourself over such trivial matters." She returned her attention to Nanyehi. "Leliana has already spoken to me about your plans to reach out to Mother Giselle. I believe much can be gained by speaking with her."

It was obvious Josephine and Nanyehi had little in common; Nanyehi would much prefer to send arrows through people's throats then go out of her way to attempt diplomacy. But Finn's words earlier were right – not everything was black and white, and maybe not everything could be solved in Nani's usual manner.

Maybe allying with these _shemlen_ wasn't such a bad thing. _Maybe_.

"We will depart at dawn tomorrow," Cassandra said. "I will accompany you, of course. Be sure you are well supplied. The Hinterlands are not far from here, but we will be there a few days." She turned to Cullen. "I trust you will keep the troops in shape while we are gone."

"They will be ready for anything," Cullen said with a confident nod. His brown eyes flickered down to Nanyehi. "Travel safely."

She nodded, wondering why the room suddenly felt so much warmer.


	6. The Beardiest of Beards

"As you can probably hear," Scout Harding said, gesturing down to the valley below the camp they stood in, "the fighting between the mages and rogue Templars here in the Hinterlands has gotten out of hand. We've tried to clear the area around the Crossroads, but we haven't had much luck. I'll bet you five could lend a hand."

Finn thought there wasn't much that two mages, two archers, and a Seeker couldn't do. Scratch that; they probably couldn't take down a high dragon. Or knit a half-decent quilt. Or sing in such perfect harmony that they became recognized across Thedas as the most angelic voices to ever grace the world. Varric's voice didn't seem particularly melodious.

He really needed to stop letting his thoughts derail.

"Scout Harding, you said?" Varric interjected. "Have you ever been to Kirkwall's Hightown?"

"I can't say that I have," Harding said, shaking her head with a mystified look. "Why?"

"Because then you'd be Harding in – " Varric stopped, looking up at Cassandra, who glared down at him with enough raw force to burn down a village. "Right. Never mind."

"Ugh," Cassandra said.

Solas chuckled to himself in the background.

Finn regarded Scout Harding. She was rather pretty – as dwarven women often were – with her chestnut hair braided into a complex knot at the back of her head and green eyes the color of a forest at dusk. A smattering of freckles dotted her fair cheeks and nose. He remembered the first time he'd seen a dwarf when he'd joined the Hero of Ferelden's armies; he'd been astounded that a person could actually be _shorter_ than him, not to mention the tremendous beards the men grew. He'd always been mildly fascinated by facial hair, considering he couldn't grow it and didn't even know it existed until he saw his first human.

Whoops. His thoughts had derailed again. _Get it together, Finn._

" _Anyway_ ," Nanyehi said, steering the conversation back on track, "we'll do what we can with the fighting, but our primary goals are to find Mother Giselle and track down this Warden Blackwall. Can you point us in the direction of the Crossroads?"

"Right down that way," the lead scout said, drawing her finger in a wide arc. "Take the path down the hill and keep right. You can't miss it. You'll probably hear the screaming, anyway."

" _Ma serannas, durgen'len_ ," Nanyehi said.

"I have no idea what you just said, Herald, but I'll take it as a thank you." Scout Harding smiled politely and took a step back. "If you need me, I'll be here at camp keeping everything in order. Stay safe out there. The mages and Templars haven't been particularly reasonable." With that, she turned and strode away, stopping to lean over a low table and pick up a quill.

Nanyehi frowned.

Finn knew she hadn't been pleased when Cassandra had informed her the people around Haven were referring to her as the Herald of Andraste. Not to mention the title was starting to spread – helped by Leliana and Josephine, of course, who referred to Nani as such in just about all of their writings. Neither Finn nor Nanyehi believed in the _shemlen_ Maker or his prophet, so it seemed an absurd idea for a Dalish hunter to be said prophet's "chosen herald"… But no amount of scowling on Nanyehi's part erased the whisperings. They thought Andraste had guided her out of the rift, and that was that.

"Say, Varric," Finn said. "About that book of yours – "

Varric grinned. "Not to worry, Frosty. You'll have copies of Hard in Hightown's chapters as soon as my publisher ships them. On the house, of course."

"You're the best, Varric."

"I know."

"We should make for the Crossroads," Cassandra said, taking the first step down the hill. "Our forces cannot hold forever."

"I agree," Nanyehi said, joining her. The two women matched strides, and the three men followed; after a moment, Finn heard Nanyehi and Cassandra strike up a tentative conversation about what to do if they did encounter any of these rebel forces. More like _when_ , really.

The Hinterlands, Finn noticed, were _beautiful_. The dirt path they walked was lined by rich green grasses waving in a slight breeze, and wildflowers of peachy yellow and crimson and vivid blue. Wind whispered through the oaks around them, and as Finn looked up at the waving branches, he could almost imagine the trees' spirits reaching out to him, brushing him with their soft, unseen fingers.

"You know anything about this area, Solas?" Finn asked as they walked.

"This area has a rich history, as you might imagine," Solas answered, his storm-blue eyes crinkling slightly with remembrance. "There's a village in the northeast, Redcliffe, that stood against the Fifth Blight. We walk on the same ground that the Hero of Ferelden and her companions walked on ten years ago. The Veil is thin here, and the memories are strong."

Finn paused to consider that Shesi Mahariel had once been here, perhaps walking exactly where he walked now; what had the Wardens been doing then? Trading jokes? Trying to soldier through their aching feet and sore limbs? Had Shesi been a lot like Nanyehi, preferring to keep to herself, or did she ever join in the conversations and maybe banter back and forth with someone?

It was easy to fall back into hero-worship, when Solas mentioned these things.

"Are you glad Cassandra hasn't turned you into the Templars, Chuckles?" Varric asked Solas. "I suppose you're in danger too, Frosty."

"It is a fear of mine, I'll admit," Solas said. "Finirial may be in less danger, especially if Cassandra follows through with her idea on getting him formally trained as a knight-enchanter. The Chantry would ignore him at that point."

Finn rolled his shoulders around, loosening them. "She wouldn't let anyone take you either, Solas. She pretends to hate all of our guts, but I think she trusts you."

"A reassuring sentiment," Solas said with a slight smile.

"Not to mention she can't possibly resist your luscious hair," Finn said, motioning to Solas's bald head.

Solas's laugh was little more than a sharp breath out through his nose. "I imagine Varric's chest hair is a much more realistic fascination of hers."

"And that's why I wear these coats," Varric said, fingering the plunging collar of his warm overcoat. "I just couldn't keep this all to myself. Thedas needs it."

Finn snorted.

The dirt switchbacks down the hill were steep, and littered with small pebbles that could easily slip out from under one's feet, but a Dalish elf rarely tripped. Finn had spent so many years trekking uncomfortable terrain – and he knew Nani had done the same – that his feet could grip onto just about any surface. It was too hazardous for an elf to take a hard fall; they didn't exactly have a lot of cushion to keep their lean bones from snapping on impact.

A scout greeted them at the bottom of the hill, saluting to Cassandra and Nanyehi. "We've been trying to hold the Crossroads, but we're getting overrun," he announced, pointing ahead of them. "If you could aid us – "

"Of course," Cassandra said, motioning the rest of them forward.

They followed the scout, and Finn nearly sighed in exasperation at the sight that greeted them as they rounded the corner. It was a veritable fiasco of Templars in heavy plate mail charging at screaming mages, the latter of which raising their staves high and sending a nightmarish storm of frost, sparks, and little balls of fire hailing down on the ground and trees and boulders. A Templar charged a mage with a brutish war cry, knocking the spellcaster to the ground and trampling him to death.

"Hold!" Cassandra shouted when a couple of Templars turned their way. "We are not apostates!"

"Speak for yourself!" Finn said, pulling his staff off the bindings at his back.

"I do not think they care either way, Seeker!" Solas yelled, dodging nimbly out of the way of a Templar's sword.

The fighting, thankfully, did not last long once it started; Finn and Solas focused on the enemy spellcasters, who wouldn't be expecting attacks of the elemental variety, and Cassandra kept the rogue Templars focused on her, aided by Nanyehi and Varric, who Finn saw aimed for the chinks in the men's armor. None of these rebels were expecting the Inquisition. The last to fall was a Templar armored to the teeth and carrying a tower shield nearly as tall as he was; a well-aimed ice bolt through the skull put him out of his misery. By the end of it all Finn's arms and hands tingled with the surge of raw mana, the power of it seeping into his veins and making his heart thrum in his ribcage; with a deep breath he pressed the butt of his staff against the ground, trying to force his body to calm itself.

Varric strode up to Finn, hoisting Bianca behind his back. "I think I should take a running total of every type of enemy that tries to kill us," the dwarf said. "So far, we're up to crazy mages, crazy Templars, and crazy demons. This reminds me _way_ too much of Kirkwall."

"Kirkwall sounds like a shithole," Finn commented, scuffing his foot against the tight leg of his tunic to rub some stray dirt off it.

"True," Varric said, "but it had Hawke in it."

Finn watched Cassandra and Nanyehi approach the remaining Inquisition scouts, then saw a couple break away from the group and begin ushering people out of the scattered wooden buildings. "Where's the Champion now?" he asked.

"Last I heard from her, she and Fenris were in the northern Free Marches taking down Tevinter slavers," Varric mentioned, straightening his coat. "Her last letter also contained an account of how turned on Fenris gets from killing those guys. I kept it. It was hilarious. Not to mention it may serve as good blackmail if I ever need something out of Ser Broody."

"I regret listening in on this conversation," Solas said from somewhere on Finn's right.

"You have a strange relationship with Hawke," Finn said, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief.

"I have a strange relationship with _all_ of my friends, Frosty," Varric said, looking proud. "You should meet Isabela sometime. You'd _love_ her."

A hand wave caught Finn's attention out of the corner of his eye; he looked over to see Nanyehi motion him over again, her big turquoise eyes full of unease. Finn nodded to Varric and joined Nanyehi and Cassandra, and his sister put a hand on his arm, leaning up to speak to him in a hushed voice.

"One of the scouts is fetching Mother Giselle," she informed him. "Finn, I'm…not very good at being diplomatic. You know that. And this is the _shemlen Chantry_. Could you step in if I get too combative? I don't want to mess this up."

Cassandra glanced down at them both. "You will do fine, Nanyehi," she said. "You're more diplomatic than I am, after all. But I think the first step in the right direction would be to refer to us as _humans_."

Nanyehi's brows knit together.

"I'm here," Finn reassured her. "If I have to, I'll just punch you in the back of the head and drag you back to camp by your feet."

Cassandra laughed.

"Well, uh…thanks," Nani said, shrugging her thin shoulders. "That's…helpful."

"I'm a giver," Finn said.

Nanyehi, however, was a little more well-schooled than she gave herself credit for; the Dalish weren't _complete_ forest savages, after all. She greeted Mother Giselle politely when the woman strode up to the three of them, and managed not to scream anything to the likes of "die, _shem_ ," or "your people were jackasses to my people" or "I hope you get a venereal disease and suffer alone." Those were obviously extremes, but Finn was proud of Nani's serene exterior nonetheless. He remembered it being difficult for him to put aside his differences…but she was no idiot. She'd manage.

"I received word of your Inquisition by bird before you arrived," Mother Giselle said, clasping her hands in front of her. "I hear you are the one they are calling the Herald of Andraste. I fear the Chantry has already denounced you and the organization. They are calling you heretics. I will not repeat the rest of what they say."

_I'm sure the rest of it has something to do with Nanyehi being a so-called knife-eared savage_ , Finn mused.

"Chancellor Roderick's work, no doubt," Nanyehi said. "I imagine he sent birds ahead of us."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

The revered mother's nearly black eyes were calm, gentle. "I am familiar with those behind the denouncement," she said. "I won't lie to you; some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine."

"To do so shames Most Holy's memory," Cassandra said angrily. Her right hand twitched, touching the hilt of her sword. Finn felt the static charge of her anger.

Mother Giselle breathed a heavy sigh. "Some are simply terrified, you see. So many people, senselessly taken from us. Fear makes us desperate, but hopefully not beyond reason."

"Then you must see that the Inquisition seeks only to restore order," Nanyehi said. "If we can't do that, many more lives will be at stake. That should be obvious to _everyone_."

"I do see," Mother Giselle said. "And I will offer you my support, and do my part. But my voice alone cannot accomplish everything you need. You must go to them. Convince the remaining clerics in Val Royeaux you are no demon to be feared. In the time it took for you to reach me here, only frightful tales have spread of you. Give them something else to believe."

Nanyehi shook her head vehemently. "There is _no way_ a bunch of Chantry clerics would listen to a Dalish hunter. None. I'd sooner believe my brother was actually a druffalo."

"I'm inclined to agree," Cassandra said.

"You don't need them all to believe," Giselle said. "You just need some of them to doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take it from them."

Nanyehi was silent. She lifted her hand, palm-up, and stared down at the iridescent green scar marring her pale skin.

"Your mark troubles you," the revered mother said. "I honestly don't know, Lady Lavellan, if you were touched by fate or sent to help us…but I _hope_. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build this Inquisition into a force that will deliver us…or destroy us." She paused, smoothing down her frocks. "I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can."

"Our scouts can escort you there," Cassandra said.

Nanyehi bowed her head politely. "Thank you, Revered Mother."

"Thank _you_ ," Mother Giselle said. "For giving us something to hope for." With that, she turned and walked silently away, returning to a group of villagers clustered around an occupied sickbed.

"I don't know about this," Nanyehi said to Finn and Cassandra. "Going to Val Royeaux might make things worse. I'm not the greatest at addressing a crowd."

"I think we should," Cassandra said. "And I will accompany you. But we can speak more of this back at Haven."

But first, Finn thought, they'd have to find this Warden Blackwall.

* * *

Scout Harding's directions pointed them to Lake Luthias, a serene high-elevation lake with a cabin or two dotting its grassy shores. Finn breathed in deeply as they climbed the dirt path up to the lake, enjoying the scents of fresh water and oak and soft loam. The wind stirred his thick ice-white hair, feathering it over his forehead until he blew upwards to fluff it away.

"I know of a spirit who resides in this lake," Solas was saying, thumping the butt of his staff on the ground with each step like a walking stick. "The village girls like to ask it for help with their love affairs, but it is a spirit of valor. It will not help with those matters."

"So, let me get this straight," Finn said, "you said you actually _fall asleep_ wherever possible so you can experience memories? Don't you worry about, I don't know, literally anything attacking you?"

"I set wards, of course," Solas said.

"Is that – " Cassandra interrupted from the front.

"Look!" Nanyehi said, pointing. "It's a bear! See her?"

Finn paled.

In front of them, nosing around in the weeds near the lake's shore, was a big grizzly bear, her sandy brown fur ruffled and dotted with pollen. The padding of her great paws rumbled the earth beneath them, and Finn felt the knot in his belly explode into full-blown fear. His vision blurred, and for a moment he lost himself to his own memories.

_Charging like a warrior. Staff raised high. The barrier will hold. He can fight anything like this. He's unbeatable._

He barely heard his breaths speeding up.

_Not enough studying. The technique is wrong, unpracticed. The barrier breaks. The armor won't be enough. This was a mistake. He's not unbeatable, is he?_

"Finn?" Nani asked, turning around to look at him. He barely saw her.

_Claws ripping him open, tearing into his insides. Teeth scraping his cheek. Screaming. White hot pain. The metallic stench of blood and innards. He's dying. All for his foolish enthusiasm. All for his desire to master a technique that had been lost to the ages._

_Clansmen yelling for him. Arrows. A hunting party coming his way._

He snapped his teeth together, breaking out of the flashback. It had been a year since he'd been mauled by that great bear. He should be able to handle the sight of a grizzly. And yet he still felt the usual cold sweat on his hands, the painful tightening of every muscle, the dull ache of scars where the bear's claws had once torn into him.

"She won't attack," Nanyehi said; suddenly she was beside him, her lithe arm wrapped around his waist. "And even if she does, I'll kill her. All right? You're my brother. Nothing hurts you."

Finn saw Cassandra, Varric, and Solas staring at him, obviously not comprehending the sudden panic that had come over him; from the understanding in their eyes, though, they seemed to be familiar with this sort of reaction.

"I know," he said, sorting himself out with a grunt and a violent shake of his head.

The bear, unsurprisingly, had moved on from sniffing around the lake shore and was currently ambling away from them; Finn watched it for just a second, then looked away, swallowing the bile that had risen in his throat.

If it hadn't been for that hunting party, the bear would've eaten him alive a year ago. He vividly recalled Nanyehi shrieking at the bear and throwing herself at it like a wildcat, the shrill whistles of arrows all around him. Ten Dalish hunters had finally taken the beast down. Only Keeper Istimaethoriel's magic had knit together Finn's broken body and saved his life that day.

Nani probably thought Finn was a lunatic for jumping in front of the pride demon at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. But what kind of man didn't jump in front of death itself to protect his sister?

Bears, though. Finn would sooner wet himself in front of a bear than effectively protect Nanyehi. Not the most masculine mental image, but, well…the memories were still strong.

"I see people ahead," Cassandra said, pointing. "By the docks. See?"

Finn focused where she pointed, aware that Nani's arm was still tight around his middle. Indeed, there was a man in armor of grey steel and royal blue with a thick steel breastplate, pacing back and forth in front of a group of three men in ragged homespun tunics. He held a crude wooden shield high and shouted something Finn couldn't quite decipher, though he caught the words "you're not hiding, you're holding." If this was indeed Warden Blackwall, perhaps he was schooling recruits?

"Let's go," Finn said. "I'd make a shoddy Inquisition agent for Leliana if I didn't at least _talk_ to the guy."

"I'll come with you," Nanyehi said, letting go of Finn. "Cassandra, Varric, Solas, hold back."

Finn approached him, purposely not looking down at the bear's heavy pawprints in the soil beneath his feet. The Warden didn't even notice him, not until Finn cleared his throat and said, "Blackwall? Warden Blackwall?"

The man saw him then, and looked over at him with the expression of someone who had just had an important meeting interrupted by some incompetent messenger – which, Finn thought, might _actually_ be what the Warden thought about the whole situation. The second thing Finn noticed, beyond Blackwall's dour expression and the narrowing of his deep-set eyes, was his _beard_. He had a strange desire to touch it and see if it was actually as soft and thick as it looked; not to mention Finn had always been fascinated by hair like that, as black as pure pitch.

"Who? – " Blackwall began, striding closer to Finn. "I don't think I know you… How do you know my name? Who sent – "

A second later Blackwall grunted and threw his shield in front of Finn's head; Finn heard the distinct _twang_ of an arrow sinking into the wood.

_Well_. Good reflexes.

"Hey!" Nanyehi yelled at whoever had fired the shot, ripping her bow from her back and nocking an arrow. Three men burst out from behind a stand of trees, flailing their weapons above their heads like they were part of a magnificent war charge.

"That's it!" Blackwall said, unsheathing his sword. "Whoever you are, help or get out! We're dealing with these idiots first!"

The "fight" was almost a joke. Blackwall's recruits barely had any time to even use their axes and shields; Nanyehi's arrow sunk deep into one of the men's skulls with a sickening thunk, and Finn froze another man solid with a twist of his hand. Blackwall cleaved down the third one, staring down at the man's body with a frown. It was a shame, Finn thought, the rapidfire loss of lives, but he hadn't asked these men to shoot an arrow nearly through his head. Rather rude, come to think of it.

"Sorry bastards," Blackwall said, shaking his head. He looked over at Finn. "I take it you're a _mage_ , then, considering you turned that poor sod into a giant icicle."

He had, hadn't he? Finn's first thought upon noticing the man's frozen form, arm still held high, mouth still open in a yell, was that he'd probably killed him in the most arsehole way possible. The man was clearly not suffering any longer, at least; when the ice finally melted in the warm afternoon sun, perhaps someone could salvage his armor.

Speaking of… Finn heard scuffling off to his right, and saw Nanyehi on her knees next to a body, rifling through his pockets and pulling out a bag of gold coins.

" _Nani_ ," Finn said. "Not in front of – "

"This _shem_ won't need it," Nanyehi protested, picking up the man's axe and studying it. "You think I can trade this for something with one of the craftsmen at Haven?" She made a surprised noise and unceremoniously dropped the axe, plucking a small stone out of the man's breeches pocket and holding it up so its rich grape color caught the sunlight. "Hey, Varric! Look at this!"

"Amethyst!" Varric called over. "Might be valuable!"

Gods almighty. Finn tried not to chuckle and failed.

"Ser Blackwall?" one of the recruits inquired, looking confused.

Blackwall turned back to them, approaching them. "That may not have been a fair fight, but now you lot know the basics of defending yourselves," he said. "My work here is done. Take back what they stole. Go home to your families. You can save yourselves now."

The recruits filed off, their shoulders held a little prouder than they were before. It seemed Blackwall had been trying to teach them some self-defense; knowing that now, Finn wished he hadn't made a giant ice-crystal out of one of the assailants so they could've at least fought _someone_. Too late, though.

"You're no farmer," Blackwall said, fixing his eyes on Finn. "Mind telling me who you are, and how you know my name?"

"I suppose if you want to call me what everyone's been calling me lately, you may address me as Ser Unnamed Accomplice," Finn said. "Pleased to meet you."

"What in the – " Blackwall started.

"We're agents of the Inquisition, stationed in Haven," Nanyehi said, standing and joining them. She gave him a look that distinctly said _cut-the-crap-Finn_. "My name's Nanyehi. This is my brother, Finirial. Our spymaster gave us the news that both Fereldan and Orlesian Grey Wardens have disappeared, and we're looking for information. "

"Also, I don't know if you've heard," Finn said, "but Divine Justinia was murdered in an explosion at the Conclave in Haven, among hundreds of others. Either whoever killed her has something to do with the disappearances, or…"

Or the Wardens _did_ it. Weird thought, and something Finn wasn't really willing to entertain, given his involvement with them ten years ago. But rumors were flying.

"Maker's balls," Blackwall cursed. "You think the _Wardens_ have something to do with whatever explosion you just – no, you're asking, so you don't really know." He rubbed the back of his neck. "First off, I didn't even know they'd disappeared. But we do that, right? No more Blight, job done. Wardens are the first thing forgotten."

"You didn't know?" Finn asked. "Aren't you worried about where Warden-Commander Nalida might be? His disappearance alone is worrisome enough."

"Barely know the guy," Blackwall grunted. "It's not like he and I have weekly tea time."

Odd. If Blackwall had a high enough rank in the Grey Wardens to be out recruiting, then shouldn't he have at least been familiar with Warden-Commander Nalida of Ferelden? Finn had seen him at Denerim ten years ago, and it wasn't as if the former enchanter scared off people; Finn remembered a big grin and friendly, exotic amber eyes. There was, however, one Warden who had achieved a higher rank than even Corvis Nalida.

"You have to have at least _heard_ of Queen Cousland-Theirin," Finn tried. "We can't trace where she is, either. And it begs the question, if they led the Wardens somewhere, why haven't you gone with them? I'm – "

Blackwall looked frustrated. "I've been recruiting alone out in the Ferelden frontier. Haven't seen any Wardens for months. I've been sending the new recruits off to Warden-Commander Nalida and looking for more. Except for these sods – I "conscripted" them so they could fend off those thieves. But you can imagine recruits are sparse, since the Archdemon is a decade dead. And there's no need to actually conscript because there's no Blight coming. So no, I haven't disappeared with the rest of them, I've barely seen them, and I don't know where they've gone off to." He sighed. "Wish I did."

Finn blinked, thought a moment, and decided it just wasn't worth it to drive Warden Blackwall insane.

"One thing I'll tell you," Blackwall said firmly, "is no Warden exploded the Divine. Get that notion out of your heads. Our purpose isn't political."

"I'm not here to accuse," Finn backtracked. "I'm just looking for information."

"The only thing I can think of is that Warden-Commander Nalida might've taken them back to the stronghold in Weisshaupt," Blackwall said. "That's in the Anderfels, pretty damn far north. Other than that, I don't really know. Can't imagine why else they'd all disappear at once, let alone where they've gone off to. Nalida is Antivan; maybe he took them there or something. I might've missed a runner telling me to join them."

It didn't seem like something the Wardens would do, go skipping off to Antiva without so much as a _how-do-you-do_ , but Finn could only garner one thing from this conversation; Warden Blackwall didn't know where they'd gone either. And he'd avoided the question about Ferelden's Queen. Nanyehi scuffed her foot against the dirt next to him, rubbing the palm of her left hand.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you, Ser Blackwall," Finn said, taking a step back. "I suppose I'll have to search elsewhere. Thanks for your time."

"Hold a moment," Blackwall said. "You're Inquisition agents, you said? I've seen the tears in the sky. They've been popping up all over the Hinterlands. And the Divine is dead. If you're aiming to restore order, I'd rather join the cause than sit on my arse and think I'm not affected." He stood up a little straighter. "If you're trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me."

"What could one Warden do?" Nanyehi asked from Finn's side. "Don't we need _armies_ for this?"

"You haven't seen Wardens fight, Nani," Finn reminded her. "I have. They're _ferocious_. Not to mention only five of them damn well saved the world ten years ago." He smiled at Blackwall. "I say let's do it. No harm in you joining us."

"Good to hear," Blackwall said, giving Finn the first smile since he'd locked eyes on him; no, smile was too strong a word for the tiniest twitch at the corner of Blackwall's mouth. But it was something. "Perhaps I've been keeping to myself for too long. Haven, you say? I'll meet you there."

"No need," Nanyehi said. "Our business is finished in the Hinterlands for now, so we're returning to Haven. I…suppose you can accompany us back."

Blackwall nodded his understanding. "Good. Been a while since I had someone to talk to."

That was an interesting twist of fate. Finn smiled to himself, hoping the six of them wouldn't murder each other for something horribly petty before they reached Haven.

Sadly…it was a possibility.


	7. The Smallest of Sparks

Nanyehi shifted her weight onto one hip and watched little flakes of snow settle over Haven as Harritt – Haven's resident gruff, bearded blacksmith – knelt by her right leg, tightening the leather straps on her newly fitted greaves. Every so often he tugged too hard and nearly knocked her off balance, but she always readjusted herself in time; the idea of toppling over and falling on top of the blacksmith made her way too nervous.

"That's that for the greaves," Harritt said, giving her right shin one last pat and standing up. "How's the armor feel?"

Nanyehi looked down at herself. These straps and blue silk brocade wrappings and buttons and buckles were extremely foreign to her, but _warm_ ; she no longer felt like her teeth were chattering so hard that they'd grind each other to a stump. She flexed her fingers within the leather gloves, grateful for the supple softness of the material.

"It fits well," she said. "Warm, too. _Ma serannas_."

"I'm going to assume that's elf for 'thank you'," Harritt grunted, tugging at his scruffy, red-brown beard. "In any case, you're welcome. If you ever find an armor piece you'd like upgraded, or think of something you want crafted, you take it to me. I'll get it sorted out." He turned and shuffled away, stopping to scrutinize an apprentice hammering away at a greatsword on the forge.

It probably hadn't been easy for Harritt, adjusting to Nanyehi's different proportions, but he hadn't skimped on her armor, and she had to thank him for that. _He doesn't half-ass_ , Finn probably would've said. She paused to marvel that she'd stood still and let a human man near her for an extended period without fleeing for the hills. Change was in the air, wasn't it?

They'd arrived in Haven from the Hinterlands two days ago. Finn had spent much of the two days in Haven's tavern trading stories with Varric, occasionally traveling up the hill to ask Solas about his journeys; every time Nanyehi caught them talking, she saw a smile creeping onto Solas's face. For all his hermit-like appearance, he seemed to enjoy Finn's enthusiasm for learning.

Finn was good at that. Listening. Learning. Putting smiles on people's faces. Now that they were surrounded by people here in Haven, Nanyehi found herself wishing often that she had her older brother's talents.

As for her, she'd largely spent the two days in Haven alone, save for being fitted for armor and speaking with Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine about their next course of action. The Lady Ambassador in particular seemed to approve of Mother Giselle's admonishments to address the Chantry in Val Royeaux, and everyone else had reluctantly admitted their support of the idea. It made Nanyehi nervous beyond belief, but she'd do it. She had to. Much as she wanted to march up the mountain right now and attempt to close the Breach herself, she knew she didn't have the strength. Nor did they have the manpower to stop whoever or whatever had caused the explosion in the first place.

Her gaze swept over the snow-covered training grounds, and she cracked the slightest of smiles. Cassandra had been hammering that straw dummy with her sword for at least an hour now, so much that the dummy in question had flaxen chunks of straw littering the ground around it. Cassandra made a disgusted face and swung again, her black eyebrows nearly knitted together.

Nani decided to step out of her comfort zone. Adjusting her small leather overcoat, she stepped over to Cassandra, treading so lightly in the snow that her new boots barely made prints.

"Shall we put a red wig on that dummy, paint it with green _vallaslin_ , and call it 'that infuriating Dalish woman'?" Nani asked when Cassandra made a particularly vicious cut into it.

Cassandra took a step back, sheathed her sword, and smiled slightly. "Sometimes it seems like I'd want that, doesn't it?" she said. "I should apologize to you, Lady Lavellan. We started off on the wrong foot, and I believe much of that is my fault."

"I…well…thank you," Nani said. She struggled to think of what to say. _Curses, why is Finn so much better at this?_

"I wanted someone to blame," Cassandra said with a heavy sigh. "And there you and your brother were, looking like the perfect suspects. I was not thinking straight at that moment." She ran a hand through her cropped ebony hair. "I want you to know that this Inquisition will do all it can to make sure neither you nor your brother come to harm. Finirial will not be taken in for apostacy if I have a say in the matter. I think that's the least I can do for what you have suffered."

There'd been a tight cord of fear constricting Nani's heart, but she felt it relax its hold just a little.

"That…means a lot, Lady Pentaghast," she said. "I – "

"You may call me Cassandra," she interrupted. "Perhaps being more familiar with each other will make things between us less…antagonistic."

Good plan. "You can call me Nanyehi, then," Nani said.

"I will." Cassandra smiled. For all her sharp, exotic features, she had a pleasant smile, one that lit up her face and softened her dark eyes. "I wonder sometimes… Did I do the right thing? Starting this Inquisition?"

"You're asking _me?"_

Cassandra sighed again. "I don't always think before I act, as you know," she said. "I am too brash, I've been told. I see something that needs to be done, and I do it. I don't like wasting time, hoping someone else will make the hard decisions when I will not. But this… Did I make the right one? The Chantry has _denounced_ us, Nanyehi. How far will we possibly get without Chantry support?"

"Maybe we won't need them," Nani tried. "Or maybe they'll come around. Who cares? We're out here trying to save the world and restore order. That's a cause everyone can get behind, isn't it? It can't be _controversial_." She eyed the shimmering green scar on her palm. "Yeah, so they think I'm some false prophet or whatnot – let them. I don't want them to bow down to me or anything. I just want to not die."

"You are right." Cassandra gripped the bottom of her breastplate, adjusting it. "We cannot give up, no matter what. There is too much at stake." She turned to walk away, then paused, looking back at Nanyehi. "Thank you. My head is a little clearer now."

"Mine, too," Nanyehi said mostly to herself, watching Cassandra walk away for a moment.

She wasn't sure what to do, now, while waiting to be summoned to the war room. The thought of hunting nugs outside Haven's walls crossed her mind, but with the village's close proximity to the Breach, she wasn't certain tromping around in the wilderness by herself was such a good idea. Lady Josephine had gushed about Nani's hair earlier and offered to braid it – she said the red-wine color was the loveliest she'd seen in quite a while – and Nani was considering taking her up on that offer when she sensed someone approaching her.

"Lady Lavellan!" Commander Cullen greeted her, wiping snow off his thick blond hair with a gauntleted hand. "There you are. I thought I'd discuss some things with you. Walk with me?"

Nanyehi only realized she'd released a rather pent-up breath when she saw it fog up in front of her face. Confused by herself, she looked up at him, marveling at how tall human men were – she only came up to his shoulder, it seemed. Finn only reached Cullen's chin, so at least she wasn't _alone_ in that regard.

"I…of course," she said.

She noticed as they walked through the snow that Cullen slowed down his stride for her, making it so she didn't have to jog to keep up with his long legs. He only stopped to check on a written request sent by a runner, then handed it back to the scout and continued.

"I assume you're aware of how powerful the Breach is," he said, glancing up at it. Nani studied his profile as he did so. "I believe we have two options in that regard. We can approach the rebel mages in the Hinterlands for more power for your mark, or we can seek out the Templar order to suppress the Breach's magic." His laugh was light, breathy. "None of us have been able to come to a consensus on this matter."

"To be honest, Templars scare me," Nanyehi said bluntly. "I was always afraid one of them would find my clan and take Finn away."

"I feel like I should inform you that I was a Templar once," Cullen said.

Nani opened her mouth in surprise, attempted to say something, and tripped over a rock hidden beneath the snow.

She flailed her arms in front of her to break her impact, but it turned out there was no need. Cullen grabbed her before she fell, helping her upright as if she weighed little more than a piece of parchment. His hands lingered there on her arms for a second more than she thought they would; then he pulled them away and cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

Nani's face flamed. Here she'd been all proud of the fact that Dalish elves rarely tripped just a moment ago, and then she'd let her foot get caught on a rock like a bumbling idiot. She picked at her lip, then composed herself with a deep, shuddering breath. Cullen was watching her expectantly.

"Thank you," she said. "I – I'm sorry about that. I must've been caught off guard." She cleared her own throat. "You were saying?"

"No harm done, my lady," he said with a pleasant half-smile. He resumed his course for the village's front gate, and Nanyehi kept pace with him. "As I was saying, I was a Templar until I left the order just recently. I first served in Ferelden's circle, but I was in Kirkwall for a while. I hear you come from the Free Marches as well? Were you near Kirkwall?"

Nani shook her head. "Northern. Mostly near Tantervale and Starkhaven." She scuffed her new boots in the snow as she walked, kicking up little white tufts. "Is it killing you that Finn and Solas are here?"

Cullen chuckled. "Not at all. It took the rebellion in Kirkwall to make me finally see straight, but I've since realized that mages are not the sole cause of Thedas's problems. Mages like your brother and Solas, well… They're here to help, are they not? I would be a fool to treat them with less respect." He stopped a few paces from the gate, turning to face her. "I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of. I didn't treat mages well in the past. I suppose there's one mage I wish I could apologize to more than anything. But I want you to know I wouldn't do anything to compromise your brother's safety." His warm brown eyes flickered briefly away from her. "Or yours, for that matter."

"I guess this mark is pretty damn important to our cause," Nani said, lifting her hand.

"Ah, right. The mark. Of course." Cullen's brows furrowed briefly. "Does it hurt you? How are you faring?"

"I'm all right," she insisted. "I prefer not to whine about my troubles."

Cullen shifted, resting one hand on the hilt of his sword. The wind ruffled the thick feathers on the mantle wrapped about his armor. "If I may be so bold, you've been through quite the circumstances. I cannot even begin to imagine being sucked into the Fade and falling out with that _thing_ on your hand. It isn't whining to say you're in pain. Nor is it whining to say you're bothered by what's happening." He passed a hand over his forehead. "But I'm making assumptions. Forgive me."

"No, no… You're right," Nani said. Before she could contain herself, she gave him a bright smile. "Thank you for asking. I appreciate it."

For reasons unknown to her, Cullen's cheeks reddened slightly. He coughed into his fist.

A bell tolled in the Chantry, its clear notes ringing through the snowy Haven air. Nanyehi looked towards the looming wooden building, knowing why they were being summoned to the war room; Leliana and Josephine probably wished to discuss the upcoming journey to Val Royeaux, and prep Nanyehi on how to effectively speak to a group of Chantry folks.

It would be an understatement to say Nani was _not_ looking forward to Val Royeaux.

"Shall we?" Cullen asked, gesturing up the hill towards the Chantry.

As she walked next to Cullen to the war room, Nani found herself edging just an inch closer. Maybe it was because he radiated warmth. Maybe it was because he'd been nice to her.

Maybe it was something else, something she didn't understand.


	8. Moving Forward, Looking Back

Warm sun ghosted over Finn's skin, golden light dappling over his light tan where he stood under the sprawling branches of the tree, Ferelden's perpetual chill finally thawed from his bones. Val Royeaux's summer bazaar was a melody of colors and sounds – sapphire blue banners draped pleasingly over strong ivory pillars and verandas, window trimmings in garnet and emerald and peony pink, noble women and men chattering in animated voices as they strolled by in elegant garments of all hues. The women wore painted masks, their hair done up in high buns and weaves and braids, covered all over with silk flowers of all colors. One could get lost here, Finn mused, lost in the sights and smells and people.

It was a shame, then, that his and Nanyehi's first trip to the grand city of Val Royeaux had been spoiled by the ruckus in the middle of the bazaar.

They'd been greeted a little while ago by one of Leliana's scouts, who had warned them that Val Royeaux's citizens were already suspicious of the Inquisition and its elven Herald – a claim that had been verified by one woman screaming bloody murder and shuffling away from Nanyehi at the sight of her. No matter; that could be ignored. It hadn't dampened Nani's determination.

Addressing the Chantry, however, had been a different story.

Not only had Nani been called every name in the book – elven savage, etc, Finn couldn't remember all the unimaginative nicknames humans had for the Dalish – but the Chantry priestess had even gone so far as to label Nanyehi a "false prophet" and point a wobbling finger at her, accusing her of murdering the Divine. Both Nani and Cassandra had handled the situation well, trying their best to firmly squelch any rumors about Nani being an explosion-happy killer, but then…

"Finn," Nanyehi said, "I _still_ can't believe you laughed out loud when that Templar punched her in the head."

Ah, yes. _That_.

Not his finest moment, probably. But the woman had been rattling off holier-than-thou accusations and making his blood boil, announcing that the Templars and their leader, Lord Seeker Lucius, were here to back her up…and her _face_ when the tables had turned and one Templar had marched up the steps of the wooden platform she stood on and put her lights out… Finn had found it so unexpectedly hilarious (not to mention satisfying, considering that sort of petty revenge was right up his alley) that he'd snorted, started cackling, and crept out of the crowd to avoid embarrassing anyone.

"Come on, you can't _blame_ him," Varric said.

"Inappropriate laughter aside," Cassandra said, turning her sharp gaze to where the priestess sat on the wooden dais, several helpers holding her upright and pressing ice to her bruised head, "I do not understand Lord Seeker Lucius's actions."

Finn briefly remembered Lord Seeker Lucius's face before he'd left the crowd; thin brownish hair pulled back, pock-marks all over his pale skin, shifty green eyes and a contemptuous expression. The Lord Seeker had sanctioned the priestess-punching, apparently, although Finn had caught an "I didn't do that for _your_ amusement" immediately following. Why he allowed it, one might never know.

"He's an arse," Nanyehi said. "And obviously, we won't be getting any Templar support. Hopefully the Chantry is at least on the fence, like Mother Giselle said… I can't help but feel like we've wasted all our time."

She was right, unfortunately. Lord Seeker Lucius had declared Val Royeaux unfit for Templar protection and had marched his troops right out the gates, leaving a very confused and startled crowd of Orlesians around the platform. Not to mention he'd scoffed at Cassandra when she'd tried to converse with him, which obviously bothered her.

"He was not always like this," Cassandra said, looking mystified. "He is a good man. Not one for grandstanding."

"Was, you mean?" Finn corrected.

Solas leaned on his wooden staff. "Something does indeed seem wrong, Seeker. I can feel it."

"Something _is_ wrong," Cassandra said firmly. "It must be. And I believe this is worth investigating, if we are able. Perhaps the Lord Seeker can be reasoned with. We do not want the Templars as enemies."

"Maybe," Nani said, "but – "

Two things happened at once. First, an arrow whizzed out from nowhere and hit the ground a couple of inches from Blackwall's boot, clattering to a stop; at almost the same time a messenger ran up to Nanyehi clutching a note in his hand, then ducked and covered his head with an unceremonious yelp when the arrow's trajectory missed him by a hair.

"Who shot that?" Cassandra exclaimed, spinning around to face the direction the arrow had come from. The messenger recovered from his shock and handed Nanyehi the note just as Blackwall bent and plucked the arrow off the ground. Nanyehi read the note as the messenger jogged away, and Blackwall unwrapped a red leather cord from around the arrow's shaft, pulling a rolled up piece of parchment.

"Here you go," Blackwall said, handing the little rolled-up slip to Finn. "Don't know what it's about, but I'm sure it's not for my eyes. You are an Inquisition agent, after all, not me."

"That I am," Finn said, unrolling it. Blackwall _could_ be a little blunt at times, and tended towards the grim side of things, and _really_ didn't appreciate Finn's incessant questioning about the Grey Wardens he'd met along the way – hey, Finn just liked to talk – but he did have a good deal of respect for Finn's and Nani's authority.

When Finn read the note, he realized he could barely make sense of it. Written in what looked like large, flowery, ornate chicken-scratch was the following:

_People say you're special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone. There's a baddie in Val Royeaux, and I hear he wants to hurt you. Have a search for the red things in the market, the docks, and 'round the café, and maybe you'll meet him first. Bring swords, or whatever you fight with._

Just beneath the words was a crude drawing of the three locations spoke of, accompanied by a sketch of three arrows flying towards a man's bare arse. Finn snorted.

"I think it's intended for you, Nani," he said. "You're the one with the mark, after all. I'm just your unnamed accomplice."

"This again?" Blackwall said, probably referring to Finn's insistence on calling himself Ser Unnamed Accomplice. Finn liked to take simple pleasures where he could.

"That's an interesting coincidence," Nanyehi said, holding up the other note, "because here's another message also intended for me. It's an invitation to a party at the Ghislain Estate. Tonight. From a Madame de Fer. She wants to meet me." She strode up to Finn and read the note over his shoulder. "Hmm. Someone wants to help me? What's this about searching for red things? At least the _invitation_ is straightforward."

"Madame de Fer," Cassandra said, resting one hand on her hip. "It's a nickname for the enchantress of the Imperial Court, I believe. You will not want to ignore this invitation, if I may offer my advice. I wonder if we can win over her support."

Nanyehi tapped her chin. "And she invited me personally. I'd prefer not to snub the invitation."

"This might be something, too." Finn waved his note in the air. "This person says they want to help. I'd rather not ignore it."

Nani looked at him like he'd just stripped off all his clothes, coated himself in salad dressing, and streaked through Val Royeaux's Chantry. _Well_. Apparently he was crazy for wanting to follow up on a message someone shot at them with an arrow. Now that he actually thought it, it _did_ sound a little wacky, truth be told.

"I can't do both at once, Finn," she said. "Besides, it's just someone saying that some guy wants to hurt me. Doesn't half of Orlais at this point?"

"Tell you what." Finn crossed his arms over his chest, leaning on one hip. "Madame de Fer didn't invite _both_ of us. Just you. And there's no harm in at least having a go at finding these red things. I'll stay behind in Val Royeaux while you go to the party. I think it's important we at least _try_."

"Finn, I – " she protested. "Are you certain? I don't want to leave you behind. Besides, that note mentioned _fighting_."

" _Please_ ," he scoffed. "I can handle a scuffle. Just meet me back here in the summer bazaar tomorrow. I'll live. It's a safe city." He looked around the group. "Anyone else with me?"

Cassandra all-too-readily voiced her approval of seeking Madame de Fer's support, since they'd been invited to the party and had the golden opportunity to introduce themselves, and bowed out of Finn's quest to find whatever-the-hell red things were hidden about the city. Fine. Blackwall gruffly agreed with Cassandra and Nanyehi, nonverbally implying he'd go to the Ghislain Estate as well. Solas at least had the decency to give Finn an apologetic look before he jumped on the _let's-attend-the-party_ train. Just when Finn thought he'd be wandering about Val Royeaux by himself scanning the ground for anything red like a total idiot, Varric gave an amused chuckle and thumped him on the back.

"I'll help Frosty look," he said. "You kids have fun."

"Suit yourself," Nanyehi said. She gave Finn a pat on the arm. "Be safe."

He watched them walk away, watched the bright sunlight play off Nanyehi's hair in hues of cinnamon and burgundy and merlot. It made him a tad uneasy, splitting up their group like this, but since both he and Nani were full-fledged Inquisition agents now, they could both technically manage their own affairs. Never mind that his sister had that Beyond-touched mark on her hand, and everyone kept asking after her. Finn could be just as important, too…right?

Nah.

He'd just have to think of a way to explain to whoever wrote the note, when he met them, that he was _not_ the special one.

* * *

It took Finn and Varric the better part of an hour finding the "red things," which turned out to be tattered crimson scarves with attached clues dropped in semi-hidden locations in the spots mentioned in the note. He'd found the one at the docks tied to someone's boat, and thus had a very awkward encounter explaining to some irate Orlesian why he was climbing all over his precious vessel. ( _Diiiirty_.) Then he'd ran all around the bazaar searching for a damned set of stairs, finally finding the second scarf shoved in a planter on the balcony near one of the shops. But the third scarf took the cake; it was hidden beneath a table at the outdoor café, at which three men and two women were enjoying a nice lunch in the warm sun. Finn had been forced to quickly dive under the table to retrieve the scarf, which had resulted in one woman screaming, the second woman pegging him with a turnip, and all three of the men getting out of their seats to presumably punt his arse into next week. By the time they'd escaped _that_ encounter, Finn and Varric were both panting heavily and in need of a stiff drink.

Varric knew a nicer café on the other side of the bazaar – because of _course_ he did – and that was where they both sat now, two tankards of ale in front of them and a platter of smoked sausages on the way.

This café was an indoor one, decorated to Orlesian extremes: royal blue and gold drapery around the banisters, rich mahogany chairs with high, carved backs, golden lion statues at the doorway. Finn scratched one of the golden diamonds on the tablecloth with his nail, taking another long pull of ale.

"So," Finn said, setting the tankard down, "it looks like those clues we just picked up were pointing to some location. An alleyway not far from here. Think we should check it out?"

"I don't know, Frosty." Varric leaned one elbow on the table. "You really want to get involved in this without everyone here? The first note _did_ mention a fight." He thoughtfully patted Bianca where the crossbow was strapped to his back.

"We can take some goons," Finn said with a grin.

Varric laughed. "You're just like Hawke."

A waitress set down the platter of smoked sausages, and Varric studied something on his nails, letting Finn take the first bite.

"You know, Varric," Finn said, then remembered to finish chewing and swallowing, "you haven't told me any stories about Hawke. Apart from getting some letter about her turning on her lover with murder, I think. Got any good ones?"

"Ha! I've got plenty." Varric clasped his hands together and rested them on the table. "You want to hear about the time Hawke set up Kirkwall's Guard-Captain with her now-husband?"

"Go for it."

Varric took a swig of ale, ate a smoked sausage, and sat there for a minute or so, obviously taking the time to prepare the story in his head. Storytellers took preparation seriously; Finn remembered thinking one of his clan's _hahrens_ had actually fallen asleep right before the man launched into a two-hour tirade about halla and Ghilan'nain.

"Hawke knew Guard-Captain Aveline from back home in Lothering," Varric said. "And you should know that Aveline is absolutely _terrible_ at flirting. Awful. So she had this big crush on one of her guardsmen. Donnic. Asks Hawke to deliver the man a package and doesn't tell Hawke what this package is. Hawke being Hawke, she agrees. I was there, obviously, and who else? Fenris? Yeah, him – _oh_ , and Isabela. So we walk our asses literally fifty feet over to the barracks where Donnic's bunk is and hand him the package. He opens it, and he's in _complete_ disbelief. It's copper marigolds."

"Copper…what?" Finn said. "Why?"

Varric snickered. "Aveline thought it would give poor clueless Donnic the hint that she was interested in him. Copper for strength, marigolds for – I don't know, some shit. Hawke is just standing there, speechless, totally embarrassed about this guy's reaction. We tell Aveline what he thought of them, and she's disappointed, and _that_ was the exact moment we realized what was happening. Isabela and I had a good laugh about it. So. Hawke decides to lure Donnic to the Hanged Man so he and Aveline can chat it up with a few beers."

Finn rested his chin on his hand. An Orlesian woman giggled loudly about something as she and a finely-dressed gent walked by their booth. "I can't imagine that ended well."

"You bet your ass it didn't. Aveline got scared at the last minute and ditched the Hanged Man without Donnic even seeing her, which led Donnic to believe that _Hawke_ was trying to get him there on a date, and then he actually tells Hawke he isn't interested in women without backbones." Varric's eyes sparkled with nostalgia. "Well that pisses Fenris off to no end, 'cause I'm sure he didn't like Hawke being insulted, and she really _does_ have backbone, but that's another matter. At this point we're all at our wit's end with Aveline, until Hawke – the _ridiculously_ generous Hawke – offers to clear out an entire patrol route on the Wounded Coast so Aveline and Donnic can walk a patrol and do nothing but talk."

"I can see why a lot of people wanted to be friends with her," Finn said.

Varric nodded. "She cusses like a sailor and has little to no filters, but damn if she isn't one of the best friends there is. So all four of us walk the patrol route just ahead of Aveline and Donnic and try to sneakily take out the bandits and Tal Vashoth and whatnot. Mind you, the snippets of their conversation that we're hearing are just awful. _I like swords, Donnic. They're strong, swords are. What do you have to say about swords?_ Then minutes on end of complete silence. Then _it's a nice evening for an evening_ or some shit. At this point, I think we'd all decided we'd had enough of this nonsense. Hawke included. So we find Aveline and Donnic, and Isabela says, I kid you not – " He started laughing to himself.

"Well, _what_?" Finn urged him.

"She says to Donnic, _take a hint and bend her over a basin_ ," Varric finished.

Finn burst into laughter, thumping his fist against the table and startling a meek-looking woman nearby, who pressed her fingers against her mouth. Varric was still laughing too, his deep-set eyes jovial and relaxed.

"Creators' hairy balls," Finn said, snorting and nearly choking on a piece of sausage. In hindsight, eating while laughing was not a smart idea. "I can't believe – _wow_. I'm speechless."

Varric took a swig of ale. "And they're married to this day. Would you believe _that?_ Happy as can be. Aveline gets all red in the face when I tell this story, but things like that can't be kept hidden."

" _Well_." Finn shook his head, chuckling to himself. "You really know how to pick your friends, Varric. Honestly, though, they seem like a good bunch."

"They were." Varric smiled. "Most of them. Hawke brought us all together. Even Fenris couldn't keep brooding around her, and this is a man whose brooding is so impressive it could literally impregnate you with an honorary broody baby if you're not careful."

"I think I'd be safe," Finn said.

"You never know." Varric brushed a piece of lint off his coat sleeve. "Maybe someday I'll bring you around to meet them. You seem like the type they'd enjoy. But after…after this Inquisition business is sorted out."

"I'd like that." Finn splayed the note open on the table with one hand. "First order of business – we find out if there's actually someone wanting to hurt my sister. And then we shove some righteous revenge up his arse."

"You got it, Frosty."


	9. A Ballad of Pantsless Men

Evening had begun to settle in Val Royeaux by the time Finn and Varric deciphered the exact location of the alleyway where they were supposed to find some "baddie" who maybe wanted to hurt Nanyehi. Val Royeaux's summer bazaar became more subdued as darkness came; colors took on a wash of grey hues, people began to talk in quieter tones. Still, it wasn't _empty_. Finn liked that.

Varric hadn't put up a fuss about going to find this guy, so Finn decided he'd rather get this possible threat over with. Nani, Cassandra, Solas, and Blackwall had likely reached the party at the Ghislain Estate by now. Finn could only imagine his _sister_ , the Dalish scout who practically tried to shrink into her own leggings and hide whenever she saw a human, meeting and greeting at an Orlesian party. Not to mention Nani hated the taste of finer wines and champagne – all alcohol, for that matter – and would probably gag if she saw a platter of _escargot_.

He could really only wish her the best in that regard.

"I think we exit the bazaar here," Finn told Varric, pointing. "That should take us to a street where we can find the alleyway that loops around to where the guy is. You ready?"

"Bianca's _always_ ready," Varric said with a grin.

Finn made for the exit, then stopped, turning to look over his shoulder. Someone was watching him from the cover of a shadow under a high archway – a petite woman, her noticeable mage's robes accentuating her figure. They locked eyes for a second, and then she stepped towards him, lowering her hood.

"Finirial Lavellan, yes?" she said. "If I could have a moment of your time?"

He'd seen sketches of this woman, but never met her in person. A fair-skinned elf, her black hair cropped close to her head, her eyes the palest green, like a dewdrop on a leaf. Unless he was mistaken – and he wouldn't put it past himself – this woman was the former Grand Enchanter of the Circle of Magi.

Could it be?

He'd heard of the worldwide mage rebellion, obviously, led by Fiona herself. Being Dalish didn't mean he shoved his head under a rock and missed every bit of big news around him. And, of course, being a mage himself, he could rather sympathize with the plight of those who had been abused in the various circles across Thedas. He couldn't fathom being corralled in a tower like an animal and having no leverage to stop Templars from abusing him. But for Fiona to actually approach him like this? Made him wonder.

"Grand Enchanter Fiona?" he asked, his brows knitting together. "How do you know who I am?"

"Tales of you and your sister have spread quickly," she said, her voice calm and collected. "She is the Herald of Andraste, I take it; I see no mark on your hand. Regardless, it is you I wished to speak to."

"Isn't it – you know – _dangerous_ for you to be out in public like this?" Varric asked.

Fiona shook her head once. "I am more than capable of protecting myself. And I came with a peace offering. I know you are a mage, Finirial, just like we are, and an apostate since birth. _You_ of all people should be understanding of our cause."

Finn raised one eyebrow. "I'm confused. Weren't you supposed to be at the Conclave? You know, the _peace talks_ between _mages_ and _Templars_? How are you still alive?"

"I sent a negotiator in my stead, in case it was a trap," she said. "As did the Lord Seeker, you'll note." Her eyes saddened. "I won't pretend I'm not glad to live. But I lost many dear friends that day. And I understand you nearly lost your sister to the blast, Finirial. It disgusts me to think the Templars will get away with it. I'm hoping you won't let them."

"You think the Templars were responsible?" Finn really wouldn't put it past them at this point, judging by Lord Seeker Lucius's strange behavior earlier today, and the way the Templars jumped to his every order without a question.

"Everyone blames each other," Varric muttered. "You'd think I was still in Kirkwall."

"I suppose that's true," Finn said. "What did you want to say?"

"I understand you seek help with the Breach." She looked down at Varric once, then turned her attention back to Finn. "And I bring an offering from my people. We will provide you aid for closing the Breach, so long as you support us in return." A lengthy pause. "I've seen what your sister is. What the Inquisition is. And I've seen the Chantry for what it is. The Chantry condemns magic and hunts us mages down like animals, while your Inquisition has known apostates in its ranks. I would sooner pledge my aid to your cause than to others."

In another life, in a time when the explosion hadn't happened and he and Nani were still members of their clan, Finn would've eventually become their Keeper. He fully understood a leader's drive to protect their people, the responsibility of having all of those lives in your hands. Had he been in Fiona's position, he likely would've made the same offer.

"Do you have enough mages to pour a decent amount of magic into Nani's mark?" Finn asked.

"As many as you'll need," she said. "Consider this an invitation, Finirial: come to Redcliffe and meet with the mages. An alliance could _greatly_ help us both, after all." She bowed and took a step back. "I hope to see you shortly. _Au revoir_ , my Lord Lavellan."

" _Dareth shiral_ ," Finn said, watching her turn and step nimbly back into the shadows and through the archway, where he couldn't see her any longer, despite the advantages of his elven night vision.

Both he and Varric were silent for a moment.

"Which way are you leaning?" Varric finally asked. "I suppose the decision won't be just yours, though."

Finn shrugged, letting out a quick huff of a laugh. "Let's put it this way, Varric: we've just received a personal, civilized welcome from the leader of the rebel mages. Earlier today, we received a personal, civilized "fuck you" from the leader of the Templars. I think it's already obvious which way I'd lean."

Varric laughed loudly. "I see your point."

* * *

The alleyway was, as expected, deserted. A night breeze chilled Finn's skin and ruffled his hair. He glanced around, scoping out the piles of crates, the boarded up windows, the empty walls. Nothing about this alleyway looked particularly Orlesian, which was probably why it was a deserted alleyway and not a main attraction of Val Royeaux. Nothing save the door, at least – it looked like a simple enough door, blocking Finn and Varric's way into what was probably a back courtyard, but it had surprisingly clean royal blue paint complete with cheery golden trimmings.

"We're about to get ambushed, aren't we?" Varric said, eyes focused on the rooftops. "We're totally about to get ambushed."

Finn snorted. "People don't just jump off roofs and attack, Varric. And even if they _did_ , we'd notice them coming. No one appears out of nowhere."

"You clearly haven't been to Kirkwall," Varric said. He looked up at Finn and did a noticeable double-take. "Andraste's ass. That shit startles me every time."

"What shit?" Finn said, approaching the door.

"Your eyeshine," Varric said, following him. "All you elves have that. It's like a cat. Your eyes flash green in the dark."

Ah, right. Finn found it odd that human and dwarven eyes _didn't_ do that. Perhaps there was some ancient elven or tevene word for whatever caused the green iridescence, but in any case, Finn enjoyed being able to see well in the dark. A hunting adaptation, most likely.

Finn grasped the door handle in his hand, pausing. He could hear breathing on the other side of the door, and the scuffing of someone's boot. It wasn't noticeable, but ears as big as his didn't miss noises very often. And someone was on the other side of that door. Not close, if he was any judge – likely several paces away – but near enough to be a threat in a matter of seconds.

Unless he decided to have a civilized conversation.

"There's someone behind the door," Finn whispered down to Varric. "I might be able to reason with him."

Varric shrugged. "Your funeral."

Finn wasn't keen on being outdone, so he shrugged more dramatically than Varric, twisted the door knob, and opened it. There was indeed a man several feet behind the door – a man wearing a fancy doublet and one of those peculiar, ridiculously impractical Orlesian masks – and the man almost immediately lifted his hand and shot a fireball directly at Finn's face.

Finn flinched sideways, the fireball burning past his right ear. He heard a hefty metallic clinking as Varric pulled Bianca off his back.

"Herald of Andraste!" the man announced. He stood at attention, his hands on his slim hips. "How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!"

Something about this situation was too unexpectedly funny to not laugh at; Finn bumped his hip against the door jam and leaned on it, shaking his head with a chuckle.

"One, I literally have no clue who you are," he said, raising his hand and holding up his index finger. "Two," he flipped up the second finger, "I probably only spent a couple hours jogging around Val Royeaux picking up colored scarves, and then I topped it off with a flagon of ale, so if _that's_ going to be the final straw that broke the Inquisition's back, then we really had no chance in the first place."

"You don't fool me!" the man said. "I'm too important for this to be an accident! How much did you pay, hmm? Scouting is not cheap!"

"Varric, how much was that ale?" Finn asked, looking over his shoulder.

"A silver," Varric said.

" _A whole silver_ ," Finn exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "However will the Inquisition afford paying their scouts when they reward them with actual ale? Creators forbid! I cannot comprehend this madness!"

The man frowned. "You mock me, rabbit."

Maybe so, but the Orlesian _had_ attempted to turn Finn's face into a finely grilled steak, and Finn had just wasted an afternoon finding this hooligan, so he may as well have some fun with it.

"Me?" Finn said. "You jest!"

He could almost hear Varric rolling his eyes in the background.

"And let me also mention," Finn said, flipping up his third finger and wiggling it for dramatic effect, "that the Herald of Andraste is my sister, not me, and didn't even give enough of a shit about you to come herself, so she outsourced the searching job to me." He bowed. "Good evening."

"The joke is on you!" the man said, obviously trying to gain the upper hand. "I will strike again, and your Inquisition will bend over backwards to find me!"

Finn could've made a joke right there about bending over, but he refrained, probably for Varric's sake (although it didn't seem like Varric minded raunchy jokes in the slightest.) He opened his palm and twisted his hand into a fist, freezing the odd Orlesian into a magnificently posed ice sculpture.

"…you like doing that, don't you?" Varric said.

"Maybe a little." Still, it wasn't necessarily easy, and even though it had taken Finn a lot of practice to perfect that move, he still couldn't do that without getting a raw, stinging ice burn on his hand. He flexed his fingers, wincing.

Was that really it? It seemed a little anticlimactic that the supposed baddie who wanted to hurt Nanyehi was now reduced to slowly dripping cold water onto the stone paving beneath him until he thawed and someone cleaned up his corpse. Suspicious, Finn glanced around the dark space…

Only to see a woman in crisp blue and silver Orlesian armor fall to the stones with a _thud_ , and a petite elven woman emerge from behind her.

The elf certainly didn't look like she belonged with the Orlesian – not with her ostentatious plaidweave leggings and tight, tattered red tunic – so Finn didn't bother grabbing his staff. She looked over at him and wrinkled her nose in disgust, a slight breeze stirring her short, choppy blonde hair.

"Piss," she spat. "You're an elf."

Finn didn't know how he was supposed to respond to that.

"Well, shit, you must really hate mirrors," he eventually replied.

"I'm _people_ , you numbnuts." She gripped her bow in one hand and an arrow in the other, striding over to the frozen Orlesian mage. Her hips swayed as she walked. When she reached him, she peered up at his face, looking thoroughly grossed out. " _Ugh_. Served him right, eh? Rich tits always think they're too important to die. You showed him."

Finn blinked.

"Well." She approached him, crossing her arms over her chest and scratching her left shin with the toe of her right boot. "You followed the notes well enough. Sucks you're an elf, but we'll see if that's a problem. I mean it's all good, innit? The important thing is, you glow? You're the Herald thingie?"

"Ah. That." Finn rubbed the back of his head.

"The Herald is off doing business right now," Varric informed the woman. "We're doing her dirty work. Varric Tethras and Finn Lavellan, at your service." He squinted up at Finn. "Yes, I gave her your real name, not the title you keep telling everyone."

"You're not even the glow-y one?" The woman grabbed Finn's left hand and held it up, turning it back and forth and staring at his palm with quizzical blue eyes. He tolerated it. "Who's the Herald, then? She an elf?"

Finn nodded. "Very much so. She's my sister."

The woman snorted and dropped his hand. "Sucks. More elfy elves with elfy tattoos." She shrugged, slinging her bow behind her back. "I don't know what's going on here, really. I don't know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him."

"Your people?" Finn asked. "Who?"

" _People_ people," she said proudly.

Helpful.

"Name's Sera," she continued. She gestured to a stack of crates near them. "That's cover. Get 'round it. For the reinforcements."

So the random lunatic with the fireballs wasn't the only one here – aside from the shanked woman lying nearby on the ground, of course. Finn didn't mind – after an afternoon of being yelled at and chased by offended noblemen, he was itching for a good fight.

"Don't worry, though." Sera gave Finn a big, cheeky grin. "Someone tipped me their equipment shed. They've got no breeches!"

Varric chuckled.

"Of all the…" Finn's eyes widened. "You didn't, I don't know, take their _swords?"_

"Because no breeches!" Sera said, giggling. She swung a small sack off her shoulder and dropped it on the ground; from the way it landed, it sounded like clothing. "It's funny!"

And here Finn had gone all this time thinking he was the token crazy person.

There wasn't even enough time to take cover behind those crates – not with Finn standing there raising his eyebrows and wondering why Sera had gone through the trouble of sneaking into an equipment shed, bagging up several sets of breeches, and fleeing the scene without making an effort to hamper their damage output. Three men charged out from a small side-alley, and Finn's jaw nearly hit the ground.

The men were, indeed, missing breeches. In fact, they were also missing what typically went _under_ the breeches.

"Eat it!" Sera yelled, firing at the first one.

These men must've been awfully dedicated to whatever cause they supported; Finn certainly wouldn't have rushed into a fight with his privates swinging in the breeze. He ran out of time to be baffled by it; one of the pantsless men charged him, and he leapt out of the way, scrambling up onto another stack of crates.

He was only able to shoot one ice bullet – and, unfortunately, miss – before the same man swung his blade (the _actual steel_ blade) at Finn's legs and forced him off the crates. Finn ripped his staff from his back and sent a flurry of ice the man's way, cringing in a sort of sympathy as he did so. The man flopped to the ground, bare arse up, his sword clattering to the stones.

"Last one's down!" Varric called. "I think we've had our share of crazy for the day, Frosty."

"No arguments here." Finn returned his staff to his back and rejoined Varric; Sera bounced up to them a moment later, looking triumphant.

"Friends really came through with that tip!" she exclaimed, bursting into laughter. "No breeches!" Her smile faded only slightly when she looked at Finn. "So, brother of the woman who's the Herald of Andraste. You an Inquizzy-thingie-agent? You can make decisions? I'd like to join."

He'd jinxed himself, saying he'd had his share of crazy. No, wait – _Varric_ had jinxed him. Always blame the dwarf.

"Hold on, hold on." Finn waved his hands around in front of him. "I've just spent a couple hours charging around Val Royeaux to look for clues in awkward places, then I nearly got my face fried by an extremely pompous mage, then I was forced to fight three men who were stark naked from the waist down. Either this is a dream, or Varric and I have just stumbled into the weirdest shit possible. Care to clear some of this up?"

"Calm down, mister elfbutt. I get what you want." She shrugged. "It's like this. I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That's me. Well, not _me_ me. I'm _one_. So is a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall…there were three in Starkhaven. Brothers or something. It's just a name, yeah? It lets little people, "friends," be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate." She grinned; she had a nice grin, Finn noticed, one that lit up her whole face. "So here, in your face, I'm Sera. The Friends of Red Jenny are sort of out there. I used them to help you. Plus arrows."

True, she _had_ at least joined them for the pantsless-man fight and attempted to explain her cause. Plus, as she'd said…arrows.

"You want to sign up as a recruit?" he asked.

"Yeah! That fit into your grand plan?" She shifted on her feet. "I'm not mister Knifey Shivdark, and I'm not gonna do your grunt work and spy and shit, but I've got arrows. That's good, yeah? You need people signing up? New cause and all. And I want to get everything back to normal. Don't you?"

Varric looked at Finn, Finn looked at Varric, and saw the gears turning in the dwarf's head. Varric gave him a _you're-actually-going-to-do-it-aren't-you_ look, to which Finn shrugged one shoulder.

They'd just enlisted Blackwall as their own personal recruit. Why not one more? It couldn't _harm_ them.

"Fuck it, why not?" Finn said. "We're heading back to Haven in the morning. You can join us."

"Yes!" Sera exclaimed. "You tell your glowing Herald sister to get in good with the little people before she's too big to like. That'll keep her breeches where they should be. Speaking of breeches…" She picked up the sack stuffed full of the men's missing breeches and tossed it at Finn, who reflexively caught it. "Here! You've got merchants who buy that pish, yeah? Sell these!"

"I, uh…" Finn looked down at the sack in his hands, not sure he liked where these things had been. He wouldn't mind scrubbing his hands – and his eyes – clean before they met up with Nanyehi tomorrow morning. "Thanks. Might buy us a beer."

"See? Good stuff." Sera trotted off down the alley. "Let's go!"

Varric looked at Finn again. Finn looked at Varric.

"Cassandra might actually kill you," Varric said with a laugh.

Finn shrugged. "Sounds like a Monday."


	10. Furthering the Split

Josephine worked her fingers through Nanyehi's shiny hair, twisting pieces into an elaborate braid and smiling to herself. The elf woman sat in Josephine's chair with her delicate hands folded in her lap, and Josephine stood behind her, idly watching her assistant Minaeve study something at the table by the door.

She was immensely glad that Nanyehi had finally agreed to this when the group had returned to Haven from Val Royeaux. Josephine liked braiding hair; it was as much a bonding ritual as anything else. And if there was anything she detested, it was animosity, distrust, malcontent. She knew the Herald wasn't completely comfortable around humans, but if a little hair braiding could ease the tension, Josephine was happy to oblige.

Not to mention Nanyehi had _beautiful_ hair. It was the deepest auburn, the color of the richest red wines, picking up little sunbursts of crimson whenever she moved her head and light flared off a strand. It was soft to the touch as well, like little silken threads in Josephine's nimble fingers.

"You are sitting remarkably still, my lady," Josephine praised. "Often when I braid a woman's hair, I have to keep compensating for her movements. This is a refreshing change."

"Years and years of hunting," Nanyehi answered; Josephine detected a smidgeon of pride in the elf's voice. "One crack of a twig under your foot and you'll lose the prey."

"So I see." Josephine combed out a bit of a snag. "Is it odd for you, being here? I imagine this is nothing like your home."

"It's…yeah. I'm still getting used to it." Nanyehi sighed softly.

Poor thing. Josephine hummed as she braided, hoping her touch would settle Nanyehi a bit; the elf was like a rigid little bird in the chair, completely motionless and tense as a wire.

"What is your home like, dare I ask?" Josephine said, to break the silence.

"It was hard to call anything _home_ , really," Nanyehi said. "We moved around all the time, when humans got wind of our presence and tried to chase us away, when predators came too close to our camp… But I enjoyed the northern Free Marches. It was warmer there. I, um…" She broke off, chuckling a little. "I used to like sleeping up in the trees. The night wind never got too cold where we were, and I liked to be up high. That must sound awfully strange to you."

"As strange as my upbringing would sound to you, I imagine," Josephine said with a smile.

"You're from Antiva?" Nanyehi asked. "I think that's what Cassandra said. Is it warm there?"

"Oh, very!" Josephine loved talking about her homeland. "It is such a lovely country. There's nothing quite like watching the ocean, feeling the warm sea breeze on your skin… Ferelden is so cold. And… _muddy_."

"You're telling me," Nanyehi said.

"So," Josephine said, "is there anything I can do for you? To make you more comfortable here? Anything to remind you of your clan or the Free Marches? I have many contacts. I can arrange anything you ask."

Nanyehi seemed about to answer, but was cut off.

"Arrange for the ground to split open and form a perfectly natural hot spring so I can wash off the twenty pounds of mud I've gotten grafted into my skin," Finn said, stepping into the room and handing something to Minaeve, who took it with a big grin and began turning it around and around in her hands. "That would be _fantastic_."

"You interrupted me, Finn," Nanyehi said, but her tone was hardly angry; in fact, her tense muscles visibly relaxed when Finn entered the room.

"You know you want a hot spring," Finn said, grinning and leaning against the wall.

Josephine watched him, her cheeks coloring.

There was something inexplicably magnetizing about Finn. Not just that he was handsome (she had to admit he had a very nice bone structure.) Josephine liked to watch his expressive, ice-blue eyes light up when he talked about something – and he _really_ liked to chat. He'd come by a few times to say hello when he was here in Haven, which she gathered he did with everyone he knew here, but it still made her day a little better to talk to someone. She liked to watch the wiry muscles on his arms flex as he moved, liked his golden tan and wind-ruffled snowy hair, liked to watch a muscle jump in his jaw when he turned his profile to her and clenched his teeth.

He was well-built for an elf, she thought – proportional to his short stature, all lean and wiry muscle like a rogue.

"Anyway," Finn said, startling Josephine out of her reverie, "it seems Madame Vivienne has settled in just fine to her quarters here, despite what one might think. She wanted to pass on a thank you for the new pillows, Josephine. In other news, Sera has been at the tavern since she got here and I just found her asleep on one of the benches." He did a mock salute. "That's my report for the day."

"Much appreciated, my lord," Josephine said.

" _Please_ ," he said with a lazy smile, "call me Finn. I'd prefer not to be on such impersonal terms."

 _That_ may have been a big reason why she liked to watch him so – that easy, relaxed smile he gave so freely. Finn wasn't necessarily a wordsmith or a silver-tongued sweet talker, but he was friendly, _real_.

She gave a nod. "I will. My thanks."

Her thoughts returned to what he'd spoken of. They'd returned from Val Royeaux yesterday accompanied by Madame Vivienne, who'd pledged her support for the Inquisition as a way of ensuring their success in restoring order to Thedas. Vivienne was a _powerful_ ally; Josephine was overjoyed to have her with them. They'd also returned with Sera in tow, and Josephine couldn't quite figure out that one. She knew why Finn had recruited her – the girl seemed quite sharp with a bow – but as for Sera herself, she remained a loud-spoken, rather opinionated mystery.

Josephine felt it was her job to smooth over the rough edges here in Haven, to make sure all relations went positively, but that wasn't the easiest task with Sera. She had no idea how to appease the girl. Solas had been happy enough when she'd procured him new paints, Blackwall when she'd arranged for new metals to arrive at Haven so the smith could make him a better sword, and Varric when she'd delivered him a letter from Kirkwall's Guard Captain (and apparently Vivienne appreciated the new Orlesian pillows Josephine had shipped in prior to her arrival) but Sera refused to be pleased.

If anyone could make friends with her, Josephine thought, it was Finn.

"What's our next objective?" Nanyehi asked from the chair. "We might want to make a move on the mages or the Templars fairly soon."

"I've some thoughts on the matter," Josephine said, finishing up the last touches of Nanyehi's braid. She stood back to admire her handiwork. "I'd be happy to discuss them when we meet in the war room."

* * *

They gathered in the war room shortly after. Nanyehi gingerly touched her fingers to her newly braided hair, rather impressed with what Josephine had done with it – from what she could feel, anyhow. She generally didn't care much about her hair, and it usually ended up a tangled mess from the way it whipped around as she jumped about firing her bow. This, though…felt nice.

It felt especially nice when Cullen walked in last, glanced at Nanyehi, and said "you look lovely today," with that same warm half-smile on his face.

"You like her hair?" Josephine chirped excitedly. "I'm out of practice, but I think I did a rather good job, wouldn't you agree?"

Cullen coughed into his fist and managed a bit of a nod.

"We should discuss recent events," Cassandra said, reaching for Val Royeaux's marker on the map and tapping it with her index finger. "I still think it would be good to investigate what's wrong with Lord Seeker Lucius, but I will defer to Nanyehi's opinion on the matter."

Nani already had an opinion, but she wasn't sure any of them would relish hearing it.

"We've tracked the Templars to a place called Therinfall Redoubt," Leliana informed them. "We can investigate further, if we so choose. There is, however, the matter of the mages' invitation to Redcliffe. Finirial informed me that Grand Enchanter Fiona herself approached him with a very civil proposal. And if she is sincere, the mages may be able to pour enough magic into the Herald's mark for her to shut the Breach when we make our final move on it."

Realistically, all pride aside, Nani knew she'd need their power. Her mark hurt enough when she used it on average rifts; using it to shut _the_ rift might very well cause enough pain to rip her apart.

"I still think we should investigate the Templars," Cullen argued. "I was a Templar. I know what they're capable of. And they could suppress the Breach, make it easier for Nanyehi to close it."

"Both may be risky options," Cassandra said. "What are you thinking, Nanyehi?"

Nani steeled herself.

"I've tried to weigh them both," she said truthfully. "And I can't see why we wouldn't approach the mages. They _want_ our alliance. They have good reason to want it. It would benefit both of us. And my mark needs all the power it can get. I know my word isn't exactly law, but my vote is for the mages."

She purposely didn't mention her own experiences – how, as a Dalish woman, she'd grown up around magic and around _mages_ , and that she trusted mages implicitly despite the havoc they could wreak if they weren't careful. That her own brother was a mage, and she'd trust him with her life.

"I agree," Josephine said with an encouraging smile.

Cassandra frowned, but said, "if that's what you feel is best, then I think it's the path we should take."

"We'll send an agent to discuss alliance terms with the mages shortly," Leliana said. "We've also received an offer from a mercenary company called the Bull's Chargers. They have a good reputation as fierce warriors, and I believe striking a bargain with them will also be in our best interests."

Nanyehi nodded. "So, who is doing which task?"

There was silent deliberation for a moment.

"Mages will respond best to fellow mages," Leliana said. "I know this from personal experience. For that reason, I'm going to send Finirial and a team of his choosing to Redcliffe. Nanyehi, if you're amenable, the Bull's Chargers asked for you by name and I'd like to send you to meet with them. They're out on the Storm Coast, not far past Redcliffe."

"Not to mention that Lady Lavellan is our secret weapon of sorts," Josephine added, smoothing down a flyaway paper on her clipboard. "If we can keep her out of the Mage/Templar fighting, then we can protect her more effectively."

Wait…she wouldn't be accompanying Finn? She wouldn't even be part of such an important talk?

The latter didn't bother her as much as the former. Being separated in Val Royeaux for one evening while she attended a soiree was one thing – leaving him behind in Redcliffe for several days while she ventured to the Storm Coast was another matter entirely.

 _Grow up_ , she told herself angrily. _Finn can't hold you together forever._

"This could be a dangerous path we're taking," Cullen warned them, his expression sober. "We may lose trust if we bring in the mages as allies. I think we'll most certainly alienate the Templars – at _best_. At worst, we've gained a formidable enemy. Is this really what we want to do?"

"We had to make a choice," Nanyehi said, silently challenging Cullen with her eyes. "If we waffle on the decision forever, we run the risk of losing _both_ potential allies."

Cullen sighed. "You're right. If there's to be fighting ahead of us, all I can do is make sure our troops are ready for it."

She didn't feel triumphant for that little verbal victory. In fact, she rather felt like a jerk. No doubt Cullen was coming at this problem with a heavy personal bias, just as she was. She scuffed her foot against the floor and watched it.

"That's all we needed to discuss, I think," Cassandra said. "My presence might make the mages nervous, so I'll accompany you to the Storm Coast, Nanyehi. As for the others, you and Finn can ask around and let them decide." She brushed a small piece of dirt off the war table.

"I'll check on the soldiers' progress," Cullen announced. He moved around the war table and made for the door, but stopped just before he reached it, looking over his shoulder at Nanyehi. "Care to join me?"

"Of course," Nani said a little too quickly, jumping to his side and matching his pace.

She enjoyed this, their brief talks in Haven. Cullen had an easygoing way about him when he spoke with her, and he'd recently told her a little more about him – his time in Kirkwall, his family, especially his sister. Not once had he commented on her being an elf, something she found refreshing. It didn't seem a big deal to him.

"I caught one of the recruits trying to train with a broom the other day," Cullen said with a chuckle as they reached the training grounds. "Apparently he thought we'd run out of swords."

Nani smiled a touch. "That begs the question: which end of the broom was he holding?"

"The wrong one," Cullen said.

The cold wind stung her nose, and Nani briefly cupped her hands and blew warm air into them. She spotted Blackwall standing in the training area and watching the men practice. Blackwall strode over when he noticed them, coming to a stop beside Nanyehi; both men were a _lot_ larger than her, making her feel briefly like the tiny elf filling in a man sandwich.

Finn probably would say that sounded skanky. And it really, really did.

"What's our plan?" Blackwall asked.

"Sister Leliana is sending Finn to meet the mages in Redcliffe and hopefully secure an alliance," Nani informed him. "I'll be heading to the Storm Coast to meet with a mercenary company called the Bull's Chargers. With any luck, we'll have two allies when we return home."

Home. She'd slipped and called Haven _home_. Since when had she been so much more comfortable here?

"Mages," Blackwall grunted. " _That's_ bound to go poorly." He raked his fingers through his thick beard. "If you don't mind, my lady, I'll accompany you to the Storm Coast. Been itching to see the ocean, and it might be nice to meet this mercenary company."

"I'd like that," Nani said.

"Good idea," Cullen said. He turned to look at Blackwall, his eyes narrowing a touch. "The Storm Coast isn't known for being the most peaceful location. _No matter what_ , you keep Nanyehi safe. Is that clear?"

"Loud and clear, commander," Blackwall said readily.

Nani, despite all efforts to prevent it, found herself blushing.

* * *

Finn received the news that afternoon from Leliana, and right away he set about finding people who would accompany him to Redcliffe. Vivienne was obviously a no-go, even though he hadn't asked her; she wouldn't support _rebel_ mages. He knew Varric would come with him, no questions asked, and Solas was always happy to talk with him, so that made three total. A fourth person would be better, he reasoned – and with that in mind, he headed into Haven's tavern.

The tavern air smelled strongly of ale and sweat, making Finn pinch his nose shut for a moment. But the minstrel's sweet singing voice was enough to make him forget the odors, and the rich light bouncing off the warm wooden walls made him feel right at home here. He spotted Sera lounging in a booth, her feet kicked up on the table.

"Finnie!" she greeted when she saw him. "There's you, yeah? So, Haven… I expected it to be…bigger."

"Bigger?" Finn said. "Haven can't help its size. Should we build a really tall watchtower for compensation purposes?"

She giggled. "I like you. You get my jokes." With that, she patted the table, probably urging him to sit.

He did sit; not on the table, but on the bench across from her.

"The mages and Templars need to be sat down," she said. "That's all everyone talks about. It's true. This war is stupid, innit? Big frigging hole in the sky spitting out demons, and they're focused on each other? _Stupid_."

"With any luck, we're about to make some headway on that," Finn said, resting his elbows on the table's knotty surface. "Tomorrow they're sending me to Redcliffe to draw up an arrangement with the mages."

"The mages," she repeated. "Crazy arseholes, the lot of them."

Finn raised an eyebrow and gestured at himself.

Sera shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe you're the only different one. Maybe you're about to turn into a crazy arsehole. You're not so bad as you are. You stay that way, yeah?" She sat up a little straighter and pointed violently at him. "Arrows! That's what you need. What if the crazies decide to turn on you? I'm coming with you. Just in case."

Well then. That had been easier than he'd imagined.

"That would be a big help," Finn said, smiling.

" _Yeah_ it would." With a big, cheeky grin, Sera rested one arm on the table and leaned on it. "If only the hole in the sky could be solved with arrows. I've even tried shooting at it. They don't come back down. Weird, innit? Freaky shite."

 _Freaky shite_ was certainly an accurate description for the state of the world as of late.

 _Let's just hope Nani's mark works on the big one_ , Finn thought.


	11. Of Paradoxes and Pompous Mages

Finn would _never_ make the mistake of asking Solas and Sera to journey together _again_.

It started with Solas attempting to speak to Sera in elven – which Finn understood perfectly, and he was rather proud of that fact – which resulted in Sera making a rather vulgar noise with her mouth and turning her nose up in disgust. All right; Finn wasn't too high and mighty to laugh at such a noise. It had, however, sparked a series of debates in which Solas accused Sera of being an example of all things gone wrong with the elves, and Sera fired back that Solas was entirely too "elfy" and should probably watch out before she turned his shiny bald head into a pincushion for her arrows.

By the time they neared Redcliffe Village, it had been days of this, and Finn was tempted to dig a hole in the dirt, bury his head in it, and murder himself. Violently.

He suspected Varric felt similarly; the dwarf had occasionally tried to settle the ongoing spats, but had eventually bowed out and talked to Finn instead.

Finn shifted his pack on his shoulder, sore and in an acidic mood. At least the weather in the Hinterlands didn't match the tenor of their conversations – the sun was warm and pleasing on his back, the clouds like little white feathering in the blue expanse of sky.

" _Ar dirthan'as ir elgara, ma'sula e'var vhenan_ ," Solas said, shattering Finn's peaceful silence.

Finn thought for a moment, translating in his head. _I speak of the place of our souls, the song in our hearts_. Or was it spirit instead of soul? Finn was getting rusty; either way, he was fairly certain Solas was referring to Elvhenan, or at the very least the collective history binding the elves together, which wouldn't go over well with Sera even _if_ she understood.

" _Pbbbbbth_ ," was Sera's eloquent reply.

"Excuse me?" Solas said.

"It's not going to work, _lethallin_ ," Finn said, turning to Solas with a half-sympathetic, half-exasperated expression.

"Excuse _yourself_ ," Sera spat. "Whatever you said and what I did, same difference to me."

Now Finn really wanted to find a nice, dark, secluded cave and bury himself in it.

Solas sighed. "I'd hoped...well, our people can sometimes feel the rhythm of the language despite lacking in vocabulary."

"Uh huh?" Sera's voice dripped with feral irritation. "Know what else is good? Words that mean things. Like these words."

" _Fenedhis lasa_ ," Solas hissed.

Finn couldn't stop himself from bursting into laughter.

"I take it you understood that?" Varric asked, stepping around a large, inconvenient rock in his path.

"Oh, quite," Finn said, chuckling. He hadn't known Solas to be capable of such a vicious insult, but he rather liked that about his fellow mage. And at this point he was so fed up with the arguing that he decided to jump in and swing the balance to one side. "Sera, let's keep it civil, shall we? _Ar'din nuvenin na'din, 'ma falon_."

He knew it didn't matter much what he'd said; the fact that he'd spoken elven as well would be enough to make his intentions clear.

"You _too_?" Sera exclaimed, tugging on a strand of her cropped blonde hair. "Why don't you two elfy elves talk to _each other_ , then?" She crossed her arms tight over her chest as she walked. "I'm not talking to you anymore."

" _Ma nuvenin_ ," Finn said.

" _Ma serannas, lethallin_ ," Solas said, breathing out a short laugh through his nose.

" _Tel'abelas_ ," Finn answered with a shrug and a half-smile.

"There's Redcliffe up ahead," Varric noted, pointing. "And somehow, I think the mages would appreciate if we didn't all shout at them in elven. Just a suggestion."

"Duly noted," Finn said.

He shielded his eyes from the sun's rays and studied the pathway ahead of them. It had turned to loose cobbles rather than churned dirt this close to Redcliffe, the long grasses beside the roads waving gently in the breeze. Someone had spilled a cart next to the road, and the cart and its contents lay there, broken and forgotten. Redcliffe's walls were formidably high in places – though it seemed they'd be able to be scaled in others, seeing as parts had crumbled away – and the gates, he noticed, were down.

Locked. Redcliffe, knowingly or not, had shut them out.

A second later Finn's eyes focused, and he saw the reason Redcliffe had forbidden them entry: a jagged rift in the air just before the gate, already spitting out a crackling stream of neon light and forming what looked to be yet another demon.

Delightful.

They'd already had to sneak around most of the other rifts in the Hinterlands like complete pansies, since Nanyehi had already ventured to the Storm Coast and no one here had the capability to close one. If they focused on one rift, they'd likely be fighting demons there until their deaths.

"We aren't very lucky, are we?" Finn said.

"Huh." Varric squinted. "And I doubt they'll open up the gates until that rift is closed, seeing as they probably closed the gate to keep the demons out. We're pretty well screwed."

"Not necessarily." Finn eyed the crumbling section of wall to the left of the gate. "I think I can get in and out. Solas, if you give me a boost, I can probably climb that wall and get over."

"I can do that," Solas offered.

"Part eleven of _The Insane Life of Finirial Lavellan_ ," Varric rambled as they edged closer. "Finn sneaks past some big-ass demons, climbs up a big-ass wall, and promptly falls to his doom and breaks his neck."

"The dwarf narrator is a pessimist," Finn said.

"The heroes always die, Frosty," Varric replied. "And not always in spectacular ways."

Finn shrugged, making his ways towards the gap in the wall. He made sure his path swung far left around the rift, so none of the demons would catch wind of their arrival and head their way. Luckily, two rogues and two mages could sneak fairly effectively, especially since Sera had stubbornly decided not to talk for quite a while.

He didn't notice a wide, warped circle of greenish light on the ground at the base of the wall until he accidentally stepped in it; all of a sudden his legs felt like molasses, and his movements slowed to a near halt, no matter how much he pushed his muscles to move. In slow motion he forced himself out of the circle, the momentum shocking his body as he returned to normal speed; he fell, careening into a sage bush.

"Was that some sort of practice for an interpretive dance?" Varric asked, snorting. "Because let me tell you, that was terrible."

"No…no dancing." Finn frowned, standing up and brushing little bits of sage off his tunic. It smelled nice, at the very least; maybe the mages in Redcliffe would appreciate his opportunistic sage cologne. "That circle…it slowed me down somehow. Magic? It has to be."

Solas nodded. "Magic. Of that, I have no doubt. The Veil is weak here; and not merely weak, but altered in a way I have not seen. Interesting. Either way, I'll help you up onto the wall if you're ready."

Finn positioned himself at the base of the wall, and Solas gave him a boost, lifting him high enough to get a decent foothold in the dark grey stones. He dug his fingers into the cracks, hoisting himself up along the wall until he reached the spot where he could climb over. He slung a leg over the wall, then looked down at his three companions, motioning for them to leave. "I'll handle this," he called down. "Meet me back at camp."

"You sure?" Varric asked.

Finn nodded, then swung his other leg over and dropped nimbly to the ground.

On the inside, Redcliffe Village looked like a thriving, active town. Here at the edge of it he saw a group of soldiers clustered around a revered mother, their knees to the ground and their heads bent in reverence; far ahead of him, he could see villagers walking around in the market, talking in groups, trading at wooden stalls. No one appeared to be terribly bothered by the rift just outside the gates.

"Agent Lavellan!" a scout greeted, panting heavily and running up to Finn. "We arrived here earlier when Sister Nightingale sent a missive by bird. We've attempted to spread word the Inquisition was coming, but you should know that no one here was expecting us."

 _No one_ expected the Inquisition? Not even Fiona, who'd personally invited Finn here? Something was up. Something fishy. And Finn didn't like fishy.

"I find that hard to believe," Finn said, scratching his scalp. "Maybe Grand Enchanter Fiona didn't tell anyone what she'd offered me?"

The scout nodded once. "That may be the case." He glanced over at the gate, which was still very much shut. "How did you get in? They closed that gate yesterday morning."

"These," Finn said, raising his arm and patting his bicep.

The scout looked confused.

"Agent of the Inquisition!" This time an elven mage hurried up to Finn, his brown hair smoothed back on his head and his eyes unreadable. "My apologies! Magister Alexius asked that I take you to the tavern for negotiations. He said he'll join you shortly. You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime."

Magister? _Magister?_

…fuck a bucket.

What was a Tevinter magister doing here in Redcliffe? Had Fiona already abandoned her desire to ally with the Inquisition? Finn abruptly felt launched out of his element here. A Tevinter magister would not likely be respectful of an elven agent, let alone let him open negotiations with the mages.

But Finn had to _try_ , didn't he?

"Show me to the tavern, if you will," he told the mage.

The mage nodded, hurrying along the path through the village and down a steep hill; Finn quickened his pace to keep up. He ignored the villagers giving him queer glances as he walked, ignored the various whisperings around him. No doubt they were suspicious of the knife-eared apostate tromping his merry way through their safe haven. His mind swam with confusion and doubt, trying to figure out how Tevinter had grabbed ahold of Redcliffe in the span of only a few days.

He jogged up the steps leading up to the tavern after the mage. A sign proudly declaring the tavern's name, _The Gull and Lantern_ , swung in the breeze; Finn looked up at it for a moment, then followed the mage inside.

The tavern was drearily empty inside, at least concerning the entryway. A sad, lonely lantern flickered on one of the stone walls. Many of the chairs and tables had been shoved to the sides without a care for their wellbeing, stacked to the point of tipping over. There were a few mages standing near the back of the room, talking amongst themselves; Finn noticed a familiar face there, an elven woman with short black hair and a distressed look on her face.

Fiona.

"Welcome, agent of the Inquisition," she greeted cordially, and for a moment, Finn thought she'd remembered him. "What has brought you to Redcliffe?"

"…you?" Finn said.

"I don't understand," Fiona said, furrowing her eyebrows.

At this point, Finn didn't either. He hadn't the slightest inclination of why Fiona didn't remember him.

"Val Royeaux?" he said. "You came up to me and told me to come here? Really, I don't just wake up on random mornings and think _hey, demon-infested Redcliffe seems like a dandy place to visit."_

Fiona barely moved, barely made an expression. "You must be mistaken. I haven't been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave."

"Odd," Finn said, "since someone who looked and spoke exactly like you came up to me in Val Royeaux and personally asked me to come here. You want witnesses? I have witnesses. And now I'm wondering if _you_ have amnesia."

"Exactly like me?" she repeated. "Perhaps there is magic at work, but who would mimic me?" Her shoulders slumped, her face fell; she looked abruptly dejected. "Whoever or whatever brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium."

Yes, Finn had gathered that from the elven mage's introduction. But it begged two questions: how, and why?

"Funny, how you tossed the word 'free' in there like it belongs," he said with a deadpan expression.

"We are indentured, not slaves," she said defensively. "I did this for our safety. And I'm afraid I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you. This bargain with Tevinter would not have been my first choice, but we had no choice. All hope of peace died with Justinia, and I needed to save as many of my people as I could."

"The _Inquisition_ could have saved them," Finn reminded her, trying in vain to salvage his chances of an alliance. "And it's only been a week or so since Val Royeaux. How could the situation have gotten so dire in such a short time? I don't – "

The tavern door opened with a thunderous bang, interrupting him. He turned around.

By the armored robes this man was wearing, with the scarlet three-pronged hood and the serpent motifs, he had to be the magister. The slight weathering of his face told Finn he was at least middle-aged, but he moved with the flawless poise of a nobleman who knew how to use his magic. He had another man beside him, a younger, decently handsome man closer to Finn's age with dark eyes and close-cropped dark hair.

Finn would have to be careful. _Extremely_ careful. No wisecracks, no ill-timed jokes. An elf such as himself did not simply have a congenial sit-down with a powerful man who very likely owned slaves.

"Welcome, my friend!" the magister said, holding his hands up in a friendly gesture. "I apologize for not greeting you earlier. I am Magister Gereon Alexius. And you are?"

Or maybe he did.

A rather amiable greeting, from a magister to an elf. Finn felt a little disarmed. "Finirial Lavellan," he answered, bowing slightly at the waist. He had to be polite, or he'd likely end up as a smoking pile of ash on the floor. Or worse, bound in chains and shipped off to Tevinter to scrub floors and fuel blood magic for the rest of his life. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise." Magister Alexius moved to stand beside Fiona. "The Southern mages are under my control. "And you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade? Interesting."

Finn couldn't exactly _lie_ to the man; he had no scar on his hand, after all, no means to assume the Herald's identity. "My sister is the survivor, Magister Alexius," he answered. "I am an agent of the Inquisition."

"…so I see." Alexius looked disappointed by that. "Is there something you wished to know, Agent Lavellan?"

A lot of things, really. Finn wanted to know why Fiona had indentured her mages, what that entailed, why none of Redcliffe's forces – namely the arl – took issue with a magister settling in. He also wanted to know how the Tevinters had hauled arse to Redcliffe fast enough to beat Finn there. But he wouldn't ask; he didn't want to be turned into a piece of leather for the man's armor, at any rate. He'd come here alone, and if he botched the situation, he wouldn't be coming _out_.

He noticed the younger man watching him intently; sweat threatened to bead up on Finn's brow, and he forced his attention back to Magister Alexius.

"My biggest concern is allying with mages so my sister can close the Breach," Finn said eventually.

"Right to business!" Alexius said. "I understand, of course." He turned to the younger man. "Felix, would you send for a scribe, please?"

The man stepped up closer to Finn, his eyes still on him; Finn felt like he wanted to wither into obscurity and crawl into a crack in the floor. But if there was anything he knew from his Dalish upbringing, from his erstwhile life in the wilds, it was to never show a predator a single drop of fear, lest you lose any sort of advantage. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin instead.

"Pardon my manners," Alexius said to Finn. "This is my son, Felix."

Felix bowed, then broke his gaze away from Finn and left.

Alexius returned his attention to Finn. "I am not surprised you're here. Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt. There is no telling how many mages would be needed to aid your sister. Ambitious, indeed. A pity she is not here to discuss this with me."

Finn wasn't keen on spending any more time here than was absolutely necessary, so he jumped immediately to the crux of the issue. "She would be here if she could, I assure you. But the question remains – would you be able to pledge any mages to the cause?"

"There will have to be – " Alexius began.

He didn't finish; Felix, who'd returned quickly, looked abruptly under the weather, and Alexius had already jumped up to aid his ill son with a piteous expression on his face. Felix stumbled and fell into Finn, who caught him, mercifully, using all of his strength to hold the larger man upright.

It didn't seem to catch Alexius's attention when Felix reached a hand into Finn's pocket.

Either that was an elaborate way to successfully grope Finn in front of Alexius, or…no, Finn was too dumbfounded to think of another reason. Not that he…er… _minded_ , per se.

"My lord, I'm so sorry," Felix said, steadying himself and rubbing his forehead. "Please forgive me."

"It's no problem," Finn said. If getting his thigh groped by Felix was his only payoff from coming here to Redcliffe, he'd secretly consider it a minor victory. Sad, that he hadn't been touched by another man for so long, and all it took was a hand in his pocket to make him think rather wanton thoughts.

He'd take this secret to the grave, and with any luck, far past it.

"Felix," Alexius said, approaching his son with a growing aura of concern. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, father," Felix insisted.

Alexius gave Finn a woebegone look. "Please excuse me, my friend. We will have to continue this at a later date. I shall send word to the Inquisition when I am able. Come, Felix." He held his son's elbow, helping him walk, although Felix looked recovered by this point. "Fiona. I require your aid back at the castle."

Fiona frowned and followed him, and that was the last Finn saw of the Tevinters.

He rubbed the back of his neck, waited a moment, and left the tavern. The bright sunlight nearly blinded him; he squinted, then felt something pricking him from inside his pocket. Confused, he reached a hand inside, coming into contact with a folded piece of paper that hadn't been there before.

…oh. So that was why Felix had done that.

Still a success, in Finn's rather desperate book.

He stepped to the side, sitting on the low rock wall ringing the tavern. Then he unfolded the paper and read the words written in a hasty hand:

_Wait by the docks. It should be safe there. You're in danger, and your sister is more so._

It must have been written by Felix, or he wouldn't have slipped it into Finn's pocket. Shrugging to no one in particular, Finn stood, slipped the note back into his breeches pocket, and headed down towards the docks.

The quiet _slip, slop_ of water against the boats comforted Finn a little, and he listened to a merchant peddling his wares nearby as he crept onto a boat and sat on its bench. The water beneath him rocked him back and forth in a vaguely circular motion, and he took the time to puzzle over the note. Obviously he and Nanyehi were in danger – they had been since the Conclave – but what did Felix know?

All in all, it was probably twenty minutes later when Felix strode down to the boats and stopped at the one Finn waited on.

"Good. You waited," Felix said.

"What's going on?" Finn asked.

Felix's eyes darted around, searching, and he looked edgy. "He's not here," he said. "He must've stayed in the Chantry. Come with me."

"He"? Wonderful. Another Tevinter, likely.

To hell with it – Finn climbed out of the boat and followed Felix as the taller man wove through the crowd of villagers, making his way to the sizable stone Chantry and pushing the door open with a creak. Finn stepped inside, his eyes adjusting hastily to the darkness.

Oddly enough, there was a rift in the middle of the Chantry, suspended over the hardwood floors, and Finn had stepped inside to catch the tail end of a fight, apparently. A mage whacked his staff into a demon, dissolving it, and immediately turned to Finn.

Hot _damn_.

The mage glanced down at Finn with a charming grin, his grey eyes disarmingly friendly. He had smooth, dark skin, glossy black hair styled into an uppercut, a moustache that curved slightly upwards at the corners, and probably the most obnoxiously good-looking face Finn had seen in quite a long time. If Finn wasn't careful, he'd probably end up slack-jawed and dripping drool on the floor. He clenched his teeth together instead and resigned himself to staring like a complete idiot.

"Good! You're finally here!" The mage wiped sweat off his brow. "Help me close this, would you?"

"There's a bit of a hitch, Dorian," Felix said. "We got the wrong Lavellan. He doesn't have the mark on his hand."

The wrong Lavellan. Well now Finn felt like _more_ of an idiot.

"So, what, I've been waiting here and fighting all these demons for a bit of afternoon merriment?" Dorian said, raising one eyebrow.

" _Hnnh_ ," Finn said under his breath.

Both men stared at him, their expressions two varying degrees of quizzical.

Shite. Finn had just singlehandedly raised the idiot bar to uncharted levels. May as well dig himself a quiet little hole and end it all now.

The rift sputtered, made a hissing noise, and shot out another demon. This one was of the rage variety, it looked like; a fat, gelatinous body made almost entirely of oozing lava. It began its short sojourn towards the three of them, a rumbling laughter gurgling up from within it.

"I believe that's our cue to find a more suitable place for a discussion," Dorian said. He lifted his staff sideways, as if to herd Finn and Felix out of the building. "Out. Out you go. In an orderly, single-file fashion, please."

Finn nearly complied, if only because Dorian's frustratingly mesmerizing voice had told him to, but he realized the demon had already found them and would just follow them out. At best, they'd unleash its power on the villagers if it came out the door.

He ducked under Dorian's staff and ripped his own from his back, running for the demon.

"Bit of a rebel, are we?" Dorian called after him.

The demon noticed Finn and, predictably, began to ooze towards him; he twirled his staff above his head and slammed the butt of it into the floor, attempting to encase the demon in ice.

It worked, sort of. The demon's essence was too fiery to go down in one freeze like a lot of other enemies did; Finn hissed under his breath and leapt out of the way of a swing, rolling back onto his feet and firing an ice bolt. The bolt absorbed into the demon, slowing it down just a tad; Finn glanced behind him to judge his next movement and jumped up onto a pew, pointing his staff forward and sending a blast of ice towards the demon with a tremendous _boom_.

The ice flurry took down the rage demon, tossed several pews in the air, and brutalized a hanging tapestry. Finn looked at the ice slick on the floor with an embarrassed frown, hoping no one would notice he'd trashed a portion of the Chantry.

No one except the two Tevinter mages, of course, who were obviously still watching him.

"Well," Dorian said, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. "I can't say I didn't enjoy that."

" _Dorian_ ," Felix scolded.

Finn returned his staff to his back, rejoining the two men. "I'm surprised I didn't get struck by lightning for that," he said, miraculously regaining his voice without spitting out any more imbecilic noises. "Sacking Redcliffe's holy ground and all."

Dorian chuckled. "The day is still young." He gestured for the door. "We might as well find a location that won't try to kill us every few minutes. I think I know a suitable place. Come along. And bar the door behind you, Felix."

* * *

Finn followed the two of them to a grassy rise behind the Chantry. Once there, Dorian stopped, turned, and gave Finn a curious look.

"So you can't close the rifts, you say?" he said. "I take it there's another Lavellan who can?"

"My sister," Finn answered, still maintaining his use of proper speech, thank the creators. "Disappointed?"

Dorian laughed. "Hardly."

Finn's tongue stuck fast to the roof of his mouth, and he swallowed hard.

"Dorian," Felix said, "he has no idea who you are. Introduce yourself, would you? We haven't got all day."

"Ah! Getting ahead of myself, I see." Dorian bowed. "Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do? Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable, as you can imagine."

"So…you're in on this?" Finn said, gesturing absently to Felix.

"I should apologize once again for falling on you," Felix said. "I didn't know how else to get you my note. I scribbled it as fast as I could when Father sent me to get a scribe."

"Don't worry about it," Finn said with a dismissive hand wave.

"Yes," Dorian answered, "I am, as you say, 'in on this.' Look, you must know there's danger. That should be obvious even without the note. Let's start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before you, Alexius distorted time itself."

"That," Finn said, "is quite possibly the weirdest shit I've ever heard."

Dorian laughed. "Yes, I can imagine it is. Did you happen to see anything odd in any of the rifts near here? Time speeding up or slowing down?"

Finn's eyes widened. "That one before the gate! I stepped in a magical ring and could barely move. Is that what you're talking about?"

"Precisely," Dorian said, his eyes narrowing. "Soon there will be more like that one, and they'll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is _wildly_ unstable, and it's unraveling the world."

Finn took a deep breath.

"I really shouldn't be surprised," he said. "Everything I've laid eyes on has tried to kill me and my sister in elaborate ways this far. But this…are you _sure?"_

"He is," Felix said.

"I know what I'm talking about," Dorian added. "I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work." He put a hand to his chin. "What I don't understand is why he's doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?"

"He isn't doing it for them," Felix said, shaking his head. He looked weary. "My father's joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves 'Venatori.' And I can tell you one thing: whatever he's done for them, he's done it to get to your sister. He was more upset than you know about you not being the one with the mark."

That begged the question… "Why? Does he have an elf fetish?" Oops. That sounded bad.

"You'd be surprised how many of my countrymen _do_ ," Dorian said. "But Alexius? Doubtful."

"They're obsessed with _her_ ," Felix answered. "I don't know why, considering they weren't even sure which one of you siblings was the right one. Perhaps because she survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?"

"So _she_ can close the rifts," Dorian commented. "Maybe there's a connection? Or they see her as a threat?"

"I know one thing," Finn said. "If they want to get to her, they'll have to go through me. I'm not about to let some Venatori cult hurt my sister." Something stopped him, and he thought for a moment. "This. I don't get this. Why are you both helping me? Am I about to be tricked? Mugged? Sold to pay for a steak dinner? Please tell me I'd at _least_ pay for more than one. Five would be ideal."

Dorian burst into laughter.

"Look, I love my father," Felix said over Dorian's laughing. "And I love my country. But this? Cults? Time magic? What he's doing now is madness. For his own sake, the Inquisition has to stop him."

"It would also be nice," Dorian started, regaining composure, "if he didn't rip a hole in time. There's already a hole in the sky."

"So he's obsessed with Nani," Finn repeated. "And he went through all this trouble, traveled all the way down here, just to see her? Honestly, she should be ashamed she didn't get him anything. What kind of dysfunctional relationship is this? I thought I taught her better."

"Have her send him a fruit basket," Dorian said. "Everyone loves those. As far as more serious matters go… You know she's his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage."

"I should return to my father," Felix said, looking anxious. "He's going to wonder why I've disappeared for so long. Take care, Dorian." He bowed. "And you, Agent Lavellan."

"Try not to get yourself killed," Dorian cautioned him.

"There are worse things than dying," Felix said, a melancholy touch to his voice as he turned and headed down the slope, leaving the remaining two of them alone.

"So," Dorian said, shifting his weight onto one hip, "it occurs to me that I never got your full name."

Finn could be boringly cordial and not ruffle any feathers. Or he could be his usual strange self and probably drive Dorian ten miles away in under two seconds flat. Maybe he'd hit a new record.

"I am Ser Unnamed Accomplice, senior member of the esteemed House of Accomplices," Finn said with a mock salute. "My associates prefer to call me Unnamed, and you may address me as such."

Dorian chuckled. "Oh, I see. And if I'd prefer to be on better terms than 'associate'?"

That made Finn nearly choke on his tongue.

"I, uh… In that case, you can just call me Finn."

"Finn it is," Dorian said. "I hope you're aware that I'm returning with you to wherever your Inquisition is currently holed up in."

"You what?" Finn said.

"Oh, you thought I'd just meet with you, dump a bunch of bizarre knowledge into that head of yours, and then stroll back to Tevinter and pour myself a glass of wine?" Dorian said, one corner of his mouth turning up in an amused smirk. "As lovely as the wine sounds, I came down south to provide my aid, and that's exactly what I intend to do. Your little Inquisition is stationed in the mountains northwest of here, yes? Haven?"

This could be both a blessing and a curse – the curse being that Finn would have trouble concentrating for the remainder of his time in Haven, which could be quite a while, considering current circumstances. He had no illusions of returning to his clan and resuming training to be a Keeper any time soon, which meant he'd be forced to stay at Haven and try not to slip in his own puddle of drool every time he glanced at Dorian.

It was immeasurably difficult now, all things considered. This was not the first time Finn found himself wishing he wasn't a typical, red-blooded young man with fervid hormones and perfectly crisp eyesight.

Dorian, Finn realized, was still waiting for a response.

Sadly enough, the last thing Finn wanted right now was a distraction, especially one that people would consider scandalous. Finn had enough trouble hiding his inclinations from everyone; Dorian's presence would drag those sinful secrets right out into the light of day.

"Haven," Finn repeated, nodding. "Really, though, you don't want to go there. It's…dirty. Gross, really. Our hygiene is the stuff of nightmares. Some of the men there haven't shaved in what looks like two thousand years. I caught one of them picking a chicken bone out of his beard and eating it. Not a suitable place for a man used to Tevinter decadence, don't you think?"

"I think I'll survive," Dorian said, lifting a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Is there any reason we're standing here arguing about facial hair rather than returning to Haven?"

Perhaps Finn's elven blood, and his own lack of facial hair, made him unreasonably fascinated by it; but he had to stop thinking of the subject now, or else he'd probably touch Dorian's moustache before he could stop himself and get his arse kicked.

He paused. This wasn't fair, punishing Dorian's desire to do good because of Finn's own inability to shut off his emotions.

"No reason," Finn said. "Fine. Come back with us. We'll have to wait for Alexius's correspondence, regardless."

"Marvelous!" Dorian's bright, triumphant grin made Finn's resolve flop about like a fish out of water. "Shall we get a move on?"

Finn shrugged. "May as well. There's nothing else I can accomplish in Redcliffe at the moment." He made a step towards the gate, then looked back over his shoulder at Dorian. "This is your last chance to change your mind. You're absolutely certain you want to come back to Haven with us? We're a weird bunch."

"Absolutely," Dorian said.

 _Keep it together_ , Finn urged himself, walking. _For the love of all that is good, Finn, keep it together._


	12. Those Who Sleep (In Embarrassing Positions)

Finn gazed into the crackling orange flames of the campfire as they flickered and pirouetted, stretching their ethereal fingers towards the night sky.

They'd made their camp near the farms northwest of Redcliffe village, and Varric had already mentioned a headache and retreated to his tent for the night. Sera had followed shortly after – to her own tent obviously, not Varric's – after sharing a flask of whiskey with Finn. She appeared to have forgiven him for his elfy transgressions earlier that day, even if she still turned a sour, puckered-up look to Solas whenever she seemed to remember he was there. Solas, for his part, said he liked taking a walk at night and would return soon, and he'd vanished into the surrounding wilderness. That left Finn sitting and watching the fire, by himself.

Mostly.

He was cross-legged, his staff propped sideways in his lap, and he idly rested his hands on its wooden shaft. Dorian sat down a few feet from him now, firelight flickering across his proud, noble profile. He didn't speak for a second or two, giving Finn some time to listen to the night sounds around them – the stomping and scuffing of druffalo's feet in the grassy pens nearby, the murmuring of wind through the oaks, the occasional hoot of a great horned owl.

The whiskey had settled his nerves somewhat, and he felt immensely moronic for almost forcing Dorian away because of Finn's sudden, reckless attraction to him. Moronic and selfish.

"So," Dorian said after a moment, "you're Dalish, yes? That's the word for it down south?"

"That's it," Finn said, nodding. He had to give Dorian credit for searching for the right term, despite his Tevinter heritage. "For me, personally, you could probably swap out Dalish for Crazy-Arsehole-Elf and still be correct."

Dorian laughed lightly, his posture relaxing. It occurred to Finn that he might've been unsure of how Finn would respond to the question, just based off of the typical unsavory relationships between most Tevinters and elves.

"I haven't seen any solid evidence for 'arsehole'," Dorian mentioned. "Crazy, though, is probably a fitting description. Not many people cause a blizzard in a Chantry in their zeal to take down a demon." He glanced over and trained his eyes on Finn. "I see why the dwarf has dubbed you 'Frosty.'"

"Yeah…Varric does that." Finn knew Dorian would end up with a moniker at some point soon; Varric seemed a little suspicious of the Tevinter mage when he and Finn had appeared at camp, but he'd warmed up almost immediately when Dorian had mentioned he'd been to Kirkwall once. The two of them had taken turns insulting the ale in the Hanged Man in Kirkwall's Lowtown, and Finn had relaxed at that.

"At any rate," Dorian said, shifting where he sat and leaning one tanned hand on the dirt beneath him, "I hope our people's shared histories don't cause any animosity between us. I _am_ here to help, after all."

Finn chuckled. "Trust me, I'm the last person you'll have a problem with."

Dorian smiled, reaching his free hand for the fire and brushing his fingers through it, the tendrils of flame caressing his skin. A mage had to be extraordinarily resistant to his element of choice if he wanted to use it on a daily basis – just as Finn's skin could handle enormous amounts of cold, he was sure Dorian had practiced so much with fire that he resisted its burns.

"I'm curious, then," Dorian said, drawing his hand back to his side, "what is it like, to be a mage amongst the Dalish? I can't imagine your people have educational circles like we do in Tevinter."

"Terrifying, during the early years." Finn rested his elbow on one knee. "A clan won't tolerate more than a few mages at a time. Had I not proven myself and been chosen as the Keeper's apprentice, I might've been thrown out of the clan to be wolf-fodder. We have to choose the clan's safety as a whole over an individual mage's."

Dorian whistled. "Rather barbaric, don't you think?"

"It is," Finn said. He wouldn't pretend it wasn't, not when he could have been killed so easily for a gift – or curse – he'd been born with. "Some castaway mages find their way to civilization and are taken in by an alienage, or by a clan that doesn't have too many. Those are the lucky ones. Most of them, well…get devoured by a wild animal."

"Such different lives we lead," Dorian said, as if to himself. Then he glanced down at Finn's staff, where the butt of it nearly brushed his armored robes. "Lovely staff you have. May I take a look at it?"

"Sure." Finn resisted making a raunchy "staff" joke and slid the entirety of the it sideways to Dorian's lap.

Dorian lifted it so it stood vertical and studied it, and Finn watched him. He was proud of his staff; he'd had it since he was only five years old. His Keeper hadn't believed in stifling Finn's magical inclinations, and she'd had that staff made for him as a gift. He knew its unique look even without the bright light of the sun – rich, dark red wood with a subtle threading to it along the shaft, carved into a slight twist of thick branches at the head with a large globe of aquamarine crystal resting within the twist. Bigger and more powerful staves had crossed paths with him along the years, but Finn had never had the heart to give up this one; it had been with him for so long that it was more an old friend than a weapon.

"Mahogany?" Dorian guessed, lightly sliding his tanned hand along the shaft to feel the knots and grains.

"Rosewood," Finn corrected, smiling. "I've had it since I was a child."

"It's cold," Dorian noted. "Someone doesn't use many flames spells, do they?"

Finn chuckled. "Not many, no. I suppose it's painfully obvious which element I prefer."

"You were skilled at a young age, I take it," Dorian said, sliding the staff back to Finn. "Considering you're sitting here and not a pile of rotting bones out in the forest."

Finn felt himself unwinding the more Dorian talked to him. It was nice, he thought, to be finding friends even during such a traumatic time in his life. Friends like Solas and Varric, and potentially Dorian as well, given enough time.

He nodded in answer, allowing himself a smile. "I'm all right at it. Enough for my clan, at least. And enough to not end up as a sad little elf-smear on the ground after the Battle of Denerim."

"So you're of the humble variety." Dorian smirked. "One does not survive the Fifth Blight by being _'weeeeellll-I'm-sort-of-an-okay-mage'_ , Finn. But I digress. What was the battle like? What do you remember? I was always fascinated by it."

Finn obliged, telling Dorian all about how his Keeper had given him his robin's-egg blue vallaslin early so he'd go to war as an adult – never mind that he'd only just turned sixteen and the whole process hurt like _shit_ but he'd been expected to not make a single noise – and how he and a few hunters had traveled all the way down south to Redcliffe only to realize the darkspawn horde had marched northeast on Denerim, how they'd essentially hauled arse across Ferelden to save the capital city.

"I'd say it was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating," he continued. "I'd never seen so much _spellcasting_ in one place." He was only half aware of his voice speeding up excitedly as he talked. "There were darkspawn absolutely everywhere, and they're _disgusting_ , mind you, but blasting them to shreds? Out of this world. I could barely move without tripping over another clansman, or a circle mage, or a dwarf warrior, or one of Arl Eamon's troops. I actually _did_ trip over the dwarves a lot, embarrassingly enough. Maybe it sound stupid, but I have really fond memories of the battle. I learned so much. I realized how much bigger the world was." He shook his head, raking his hand through his hair and pulling on a snarl. "I just rambled, didn't I? How long did I go on? Sorry."

"Ha! You're _sorry?_ For talking? I asked, didn't I?" Dorian idly rubbed his jaw. "I can't say I don't understand enjoying a good battle."

"Glad somebody does," Finn said, breathing out a short burst of a laugh through his nose. "It's embarrassing now – but I actually tried to bet one of the dwarves there that I could get an ice bolt into a hurlock's mouth. He, uh…wasn't amused."

"That sounds like an entertaining bet." Dorian's grey eyes sparked with the thrill of a challenge. "I'll take it."

"You will?" Finn sputtered.

"Surprised?" Dorian said. "I happen to like bets just as much. I'll bet you an ale that you can't get an ice bolt in an enemy's mouth. And no cheating by splitting the thing's face open. It has to be perfectly in its mouth or you lose. One try only."

"You're on," Finn said. "But if I win, it can't be shitty ale."

"That's a tall order, seeing as we're in _Ferelden_."

"You like a challenge, don't you?" Finn shifted where he sat, swiveling just a touch to face Dorian, the tips of his fingers tingling. " _Oh_. I've got one for you. I'll bet you can't chug an entire flagon of bad dwarven ale. Two silvers. If you spit any of it out, I win."

Dorian snorted, looking mildly horrified. " _Finn_. I hadn't taken you for a sadist." But then his eyes flashed and he smiled wide. "I'll take that one as well, if I must. But if I'm going to be polluting myself with dwarven swill, I may as well make you suffer in return. How's this – whichever one of us can chug a flagon _faster_ wins the bet."

"Oh _creators_." Finn wrinkled his nose. "Vile. I can't _not_ take that bet. I should warn you, though… I get really silly when I'm drunk."

"Such a tragedy," Dorian teased.

There was a muffled thump from Varric's tent several paces away from the campfire, and then the canvas walls rattled, like he'd thumped them with his fist. A second later… "Count me in!"

"Weren't you supposed to have a headache?" Finn called over to him.

" _Please_." Varric's voice was hard to decipher through the tent walls, but Finn could still understand him – he didn't sound groggy at all. "Nothing could stop me from taking a good bet, Frosty. Tell you what: I'll up the ante, but I get to pick the ale."

"Piss in it!" Sera butted in from within her tent, followed by the sounds of mad giggling.

"And you thought _I_ was the sadist," Finn muttered to Dorian, scrubbing his own face with his hands.

"You weren't joking about this odd bunch of yours," Dorian commented. Then he raised his head and called back, "be aware, dwarf, that it's _your_ boots I might vomit on."

"I'll take that chance," Varric answered. Then there was a rustling of furs and a thump, as though he'd rolled over and gone back to sleep.

Perhaps he had. Sleep sounded like a splendid idea, now that Finn thought about it. He covered his mouth with a hand and yawned, forcefully expelling the breath with a slumping of his shoulders. Then he grabbed his staff like a walking stick, pushed the butt of it into the dirt beneath him, and hauled himself to his feet. He regarded the tent situation for a moment. They only had three with them – Finn had shared with Solas the past couple days – and he figured Dorian would prefer one to himself, being largely unfamiliar with their group.

"I'm turning in for the night," Finn said to Dorian. "If my tent goes up in smoke, I'm blaming you."

"Fair enough," Dorian said with a half smile.

Finn crossed around the firepit and opened the flap to the tent Varric was in, stooping to get inside. He vaguely heard Dorian retreating to the third tent.

"Out," the dark, prone form on the tent floor that was Varric said.

"Huh?" Finn whispered.

"Are you mad? This shit can't handle three people," Varric said, not bothering to roll over or even look up at Finn. "And you _know_ Solas will be back eventually. Out. Away with you."

Finn jammed his hands onto his hips. "Then where, pray tell, am I supposed to sleep? Hanging from a tree? I'm not an _ape_."

Varric's laugh was little more than a rattle. "You've got three options, pal. There's a perfectly nice piece of dirt by the firepit you can stretch out on, or there's a perfectly nice tent next to this one with the Tevinter in it. You're the one who let him come with us, so as far as I'm concerned, if he decides to murder us all in our sleep tonight, you're dying first. It's either that or sleeping with Sera."

Finn froze.

If he slept outside, the thought of being sniffed out by a bear would drive him insane all night. If he crawled into Sera's tent, he'd likely find some unique variety of insect in his bedroll in the morning. If he slept with Dorian… Well, the phrase _slept with Dorian_ was enough to get Finn's heart knocking around in his chest like a caged animal trying to get loose.

"You can't be serious," he hissed at Varric. "There's room in here. It'll be cozy."

"Solas did tell me you're a bit of a sleep-cuddler," Varric said, still chuckling to himself.

Ah, that… When they'd woken up the previous morning, Solas said Finn had been resting his head on Solas's arm, blissfully unaware, despite the abundance of rolled furs that could be used as a pillow. Solas had given Finn a patient smile when he'd told him, saying he was fully aware that not everything could be controlled during sleep, but…

"Don't tell me you don't want to cuddle with me, Varric," Finn tried.

"I'd rather shove bamboo shoots under my nails," Varric quipped. "Out. Don't make me wake up Bianca and tell her to kick your ass."

Finn paused, gave Varric an unsavory hand gesture even though he knew Varric couldn't see it, and backed out of the tent. Then he straightened, popping his back and stalling. Eventually he realized he couldn't stand out here in the chilly air and mull over the problem forever; with a deep breath he went over to the tent Dorian had gone into and pushed his way in.

"You're not one for knocking, are you?" Dorian asked, looking up at Finn; he was currently sitting cross-legged on the tent floor with a fur draped half over him and a book open on his lap, using a tiny sparking flame from his hand as a reading light. "Varric gave you the eviction notice?"

"Yeah," Finn said, sinking down on his knees and letting the tent flap fall into place behind him. "Exactly how does one knock on canvas?"

"With their knuckles, naturally," Dorian said. "I suppose if you wanted to be exemplary and achieve the right sound, you could hold your staff up to the entrance and knock on that. Rather too late, though." And with that he returned his eyes to the book.

"I guess I'm too plebeian for your fancy staff-knocking," Finn said, sitting down and leaning back on his hands. Stupid, maybe, but for a moment he was too nervous to lie down all the way.

"You're fancy enough to use the word plebeian," Dorian said, raising an eyebrow.

Finn shrugged. "Maybe so."

It was going to be a long night, wasn't it?

* * *

Finn felt blissfully warm in the tent the following morning. He drifted in and out of a sort of blissful, idyllic peace. He knew he was on his stomach, sprawled on top of what he decided was a firm stack of furs, but he felt so comfortable he decided not to move. Nor could he; his eyes remained firmly shut as he flip-flopped in and out of consciousness.

Something rustled near his head, something that sounded almost like a page being turned, and he sighed, too groggy to investigate.

"Turn down the pancakes," he muttered sleepily, barely aware of the nonsense coming out of his mouth. One couldn't expect much logic out of a sleep-talker. "They're too purple. It makes them sad."

"If you say so," a man's voice answered with a quick laugh.

Hold a moment – why had he felt the man's voice vibrating beneath him? And why could he feel _breathing?_

…

No longer tired, Finn's eyes snapped open, and he realized he was sprawled on Dorian's stomach with his head resting at the bottom of his ribcage and his arm flung sideways over the furs.

" _Creators' balls_ ," Finn cussed, scrambling upright and staring down at Dorian with wide, horrified eyes; Dorian glanced up from the book propped on his chest with an expression of barely-contained amusement. "Creators. Gods. _Shite_. I don't even… I am so sorry – "

Dorian burst into laughter, shutting the book with a loud thump and tossing it to the furs beside him. "Your subconscious couldn't resist, I take it. No harm done. At least I got a space heater out of the deal. Your Fereldan nights are awfully brisk."

"I should have warned you," Finn said, starting to babble in his humiliation. "I do that when I sleep. Sometimes. Not always. I did it to Solas the night before. It's a bad habit, I know, but I can't _control_ it, so there's _that_ …" He glanced over at Dorian's book. "Why, exactly, did you not throw me off?"

"You looked too content to move," Dorian said nonchalantly, still laughing softly to himself as he watched Finn have a mild heart attack.

That wasn't just casual, accidental sleep-cuddling like he'd done to Solas; his treacherous self had actually sprawled out _on top of Dorian_ while he'd slept. Creators knew he'd only just met the man yesterday. The fact that Dorian hadn't decided to kill him when he did it seemed a complete miracle. Finn had really been enjoying himself the evening prior, too, thinking he'd overcome his awkwardness around Dorian, thinking they'd started on the path towards friendship… If Dorian wasn't completely disgusted with Finn at the moment, then the man was a saint.

Even worse, the more devilish part of Finn's brain was still fixated on how damn good that had felt for the split second before he'd moved.

Mortified, Finn closed his eyes and scrubbed them with his fists. "Seriously, I'm so sorry… If I ever do that again, feel free to slap me, punch me, throw a rock at me, roll me down a hill into a raging river, _anything_. Just, uh…no bears. Preferably."

"No bears," Dorian agreed, leaning up on one elbow.

Finn's face felt hotter than the surface of the sun and redder than a basket of tomatoes; without saying much more on the matter, he ducked out of the tent in his under-armor, noticing that Solas, Varric, and Sera were already sitting by the fire and eating strips of dried meat for breakfast. Solas and Varric had found a long log to sit on with a space between them, and Sera sat opposite them, giving Solas a wry look whenever she cast a glance his way.

"Ah, Finirial," Solas greeted. "Sleep well?"

Finn just walked past Varric to get to the packs they'd set out that morning, cuffing the dwarf on the shoulder as he went. "Arsehole."

Varric's answering laughter was so loud and raucous it nearly split Finn's head open – at least, it felt like it. "Is that my newest term of endearment, Frosty?"

"It's what I will probably call you for the rest of my life," Finn grumbled, sifting around in his pack for what rations he had left.

"It appears I'm the last up," Dorian said, exiting the tent in full armor and looking as absurdly perfect as he had the day before. He sat down near Sera and rested a hand on his knee. "That might take some getting used to. We're close to Haven, yes? I'm afraid this area's rustic charm is lost on me."

"Pretty close," Varric answered. "Too much dirt in your boots?"

"Even Haven's better than this shite," Sera grumbled, making a face at Solas. "I'd rather smell a mountain of horse arse than listen to elfy elves talk about their _grand elfy empire_."

"Trust me," Solas said, "I will no longer be making the mistake of attempting intelligent conversation with you in the near future."

"That's right!" Sera said triumphantly.

Still kneeling, Finn seriously contemplated trying to stuff himself into his pack for the duration of the journey home. Haven… it really couldn't appear on the horizon soon enough.


	13. The Magister's Summons

Nani's group caught up with Finn's about an hour outside of Haven, at a fork in the snowed over mountain road.

Her group was only slightly smaller than his; she'd been accompanied home by the leader of the Bull's Chargers, a massive horned Qunari with a penchant for going shirtless and rippling back muscles Nani had never before seen in her life. Iron Bull, he called himself – when asked, he said he liked that the moniker made him seem more like a mindless weapon than a person. His size had intimidated Nani at first; the top of her head only reached his nipples, after all, which were proudly on display even in the icy weather just outside of Haven.

The rest of the Chargers had stuck behind in the Storm Coast to finish up business; they'd come to Haven soon enough, Bull said.

She'd expected Finn to return with many mages, and yet she could spot only one. Had negotiations gone sour? Perhaps the man with him was an emissary of sorts. She could only hope.

"Finn!" she greeted happily when they were only paces apart; she jogged the remaining distance and wrapped her arms around her brother's middle, briefly resting her chin over his shoulder. "I'm glad you're safe. Sorry you had to do that without me."

Finn laughed, squeezing her in return, and she felt safe and secure again.

"Doing it alone was the least of my worries," he said, letting go of her. "I should, uh…introduce you to Dorian."

"Good morning," the black-haired mage greeted her, bending slightly at the waist and performing a proper half-bow. He stood a step or two behind Finn and in front of Solas and Sera, the latter of which was alternating between scuffing her boot in the snow and making faces at Solas. "Dorian of House Pavus, at your service."

"Pavus," Iron Bull huffed under his breath to Nanyehi, moving to stand beside her. "That's a Vint name. I'd be careful, Boss. The pretty ones are always the worst."

"Yes, yes, let's listen to the hulking, one-eyed _Qunari_ insult the _eeeeevil_ , treacherous Vint." Dorian crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. "I've heard it all, truly."

"Here we go," Finn said, sighing.

"The cuddly elf said in a frustrated aside to the handsome dwarf," Varric narrated from Finn's side.

Finn rolled his eyes. "This again? I will _never_ live that down."

"Tevinter?" Cassandra said. She moved up to Nanyehi's other side, little white bits of snow frosting her short, inky black hair. "Our mage allies are from Tevinter? Is this truly wise?"

"Of _course_ not," Blackwall grumbled behind her.

Nani'd had enough trouble convincing Blackwall that allying with Iron Bull and his mercenary band wouldn't cause some Qunari-related complication along the way; luckily, Cassandra hadn't voiced any objections. Of the two of them, Cassandra had been Nani's most agreeable companion when she ventured to the lush, rainy Storm Coast, even getting into some long talks with Nani about more personal things that she might not have shared with others.

Unlike Finn, Nani had trouble making friends, and didn't make them often – having Cassandra at her side was more of a blessing than the warmaiden might ever know.

"An explanation would be lovely," Nanyehi said, looking back and forth between Finn and Dorian.

"Your prospective mage allies are not Tevinter, rest assured," Dorian said, taking a step forward to stand next to Finn. Nani noticed the top of her brother's head only reached Dorian's jaw; the man must've been relatively tall, although using Finn as means to measure height wasn't exactly accurate. Her brother wasn't _tiny_ for an elf, no, but he certainly wasn't the tallest. And Dorian was well-fit, too; Nani couldn't help but notice the muscles standing out on his arms. "Rather, there's a time-altering, world-ripping magic trapping your mages in a Tevinter cult's hands at this very moment." He rested one hand on his hip. "I've returned with your brother to aid your cause. And to look dashing. That part's less difficult."

Nani spared a quick glance at Finn, who turned his head and silently mouthed _I'll say_ to one of the snow-frosted trees around them. She raised her eyebrows.

"Something strange is at work in Redcliffe," Solas added. "Something immensely dangerous. I did not step inside the village, and I still felt the tears in the Veil."

"Veil, shmeil," Sera said.

Solas aimed a particularly venomous sigh her way.

"You say Tevinter mages have come all this way to trap the rebel mages in Redcliffe?" Cassandra summarized. Her brown eyes narrowed into slits. "Why do this? This seems awfully dangerous to be involved in."

"We can't let this threat go unanswered," Finn said calmly, shaking his head. "Not just to protect innocent mages, no matter our thoughts on the matter, but because letting Magister Alexius freely use those powers in Redcliffe is bound to blow us all to smithereens at some point."

"What was it you said about time-altering?" Nanyehi asked Dorian.

"I should explain when we reach Haven," the mage said, looking up the mountain to where their village stood strong against the elements. "It's best if we deliberate with your leaders, yes?"

"Maybe so," Nani said. She pointed an accusatory finger at him. "But I expect a verbose, ten page essay of what the hell's going on when we get there."

"Lovely. I'm back to receiving homework," Dorian said. "Very well. Off we go."

* * *

Their group split off into smaller clumps during the hour it took to reach Haven. Nani took the front, walking in step with Cassandra, who very likely wanted nothing to do with the mages behind them, let alone Sera, who'd taken up a strange conversation about Qunari women with Iron Bull. Nani's ears picked up the other conversations as well – Solas and Varric talking idly about the phenomenon at Redcliffe, Dorian animatedly telling Finn about his days studying in the Circle at Vyrantium. Blackwall had taken the back as requested, to guard the squishier members of their traveling party against the errant bear or wolf or nug.

"This is _crap_ ," Bull said as they neared Haven's training grounds. "I'm surrounded by elves, and not one is willing to be tossed at an enemy."

"We're not grenades, you daft tit," Sera said.

Nani just about knew what was coming before her brother even made a noise.

"Tell you what, Bull," Finn said, probably ignoring Nani's groan, "the next time we see an enemy, you can fling me. Just don't throw me right into a charging bronto or anything."

"Yes, _that's_ bound to end well," Dorian commented, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

"Nice!" Bull sounded triumphant. "What about that nug over there. Does it count?"

Finn was silent for a moment. "Ha…ha…no."

"Damn," Bull grunted.

Nanyehi spotted Cullen standing where he usually stood in the training grounds, instructing recruits, and her heart throbbed just a little, though she'd never admit that to anyone. She lifted her hand in a casual wave when he spotted her, and he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and strode over.

"You're back," he said, sounding breathy. "I take it both missions were successful?"

"Not…entirely," she said, frowning and shaking her head. "Let's head to the war room. There are some big decisions that need to be made."

* * *

Only Nanyehi, Finn, Cassandra, and Dorian accompanied Cullen back to the war room. Sera returned to the tavern – followed by Iron Bull, who expressed a need for a stiff drink – Solas went off to…who knew where, and Blackwall had gone to his favorite haunt by the blacksmith to watch the recruits train from afar. Nani stood next to Cassandra and watched Dorian take a spot next to Finn, leaning over the table and studying the map with keen interest in his timberwolf grey eyes.

"You should know, Nanyehi, that we received a curious letter from a Magister Gereon Alexius by bird this morning," Josephine informed her, tucking a wavy strand of black hair behind her ear. "He asked for you. By name. He also mentioned that the Southern mages are now under his wing. This is news to us."

"He _had_ told me he wanted to meet her," Finn mentioned. "Why, I'm not sure."

"We _do_ know why." Dorian straightened up, looking around the room. "Or, at least, we can hazard a guess."

"And you are?" Cullen asked.

"This is Dorian of House Pavus," Finn answered for him, doing a dramatic bow and hand sweep. "Yes, he's from Tevinter, _no_ , he's not a magister, and _yes_ , he's here to help us secure the mages. Also, he's pleased to meet you all. As is his moustache."

"Goodness me, you've already memorized my entire speech." Dorian looked like he was about to laugh at the absurdity of the whole thing.

"Am I supposed to greet Dorian's moustache separately, then?" Nanyehi asked.

"If you like," Dorian said agreeably.

"Here's the thing." Finn explained what he'd seen at Redcliffe, explained the weird, time-warping rifts, Fiona's surrender, and the way Magister Alexius had swooped into Redcliffe and stolen the mages right out from under them - with Dorian chipping in at intervals, of course. "…and, lastly, he appears to be part of a Venatori cult who's obsessed with Nanyehi. That's why I'm not surprised he asked for her by name."

"What a bunch of rubbish," Cullen said. "We're supposed to just let them have her?"

Nani was half inclined to agree, and yet…she'd seen odd things before. This wasn't out of the realm of possibilities for a world as bizarre as Thedas was. Hell, the scar on her hand proved she wasn't always meant to expect or understand things. If Finn trusted Dorian's word, then she'd trust Finn's judgment.

"If Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister, then we should not ignore it." Cassandra thumped a gauntleted hand on the table's thick wooden surface. "This should not be allowed to stand."

"We do not have the manpower to take the castle," Cullen reminded her. "Our recruits are much too raw, and Redcliffe is extremely fortified. That castle stood against the Fifth Blight, remember? It has repelled thousands of assaults. We should give up this nonsense and investigate the Templars."

"We can't abandon the mages to Tevinter," Nani said, fingering a loose thread on her armor.

"Much as I'm inclined to jump in and defend my idiot countrymen, I must agree," Dorian said.

"Yes." Leliana clasped her hands behind her back. "A Tevinter magister controls Redcliffe, invites our Herald to the castle to talk, and some of us want to do nothing?"

"Leliana – " Josephine started.

"Listen to me, Josie." Leliana traced a slender finger over Redcliffe's location on the map. "If we don't even _try_ , we'll lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep. We all know we can't let this happen."

"So we assault the keep?" Josephine asked. "Even if we could, it would be for naught. An Orlesian Inquisition's army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied!"

"We're Orlesian now?" Finn said. "Well, shit."

Cassandra sighed and Dorian chuckled at almost the same time.

"I'm not saying we assault the keep," Leliana said, lifting her chin. "We won't need to. Our Herald has an invitation, yes? She can make arrangements with Magister Alexius."

"And put herself in danger?" Cullen snapped. "I won't allow it."

"She will have me, as always," Cassandra said. "We cannot accept defeat now."

"I have to do this," Nanyehi said, steeling herself, hardening her will into solid rock. She could be a stubborn arse if she had to be. "We can't ignore having Tevinter forces in Redcliffe. That could turn sour in a heartbeat. And if I don't oblige and visit him, he might grow more forceful."

"I don't – " Cullen began.

"She is right on that account, Commander," Dorian said firmly. "Alexius will not throw up his hands and meekly drag his feet back to Minrathous if we ignore his summons."

Leliana nodded. "Precisely. Which is why we send a small force, namely the Herald and a few others, into Redcliffe. She won't have the cushion of a battalion, but she'll have a _chance_ when an army would not."

Cullen rubbed his forehead. He looked worried – for the Inquisition's future, in case she died and took the mark with her? That was the only reason Nani could think of.

"I can get in through the main gate, if he's inviting me," Nani said. "But what about any backup? How would they sneak in without being noticed?"

"There's a way." Leliana clasped her hands in front of her, lost in thought for a moment. "It was ten years ago, but I believe I can point you to what I'm thinking of. Arl Teagan showed us a hidden escape route for his family that leads into the castle. It's too narrow for our troops, but we could send some agents through. We'd need a distraction – perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?"

Nanyehi nodded her approval. "I can do that."

"Fortunately, you'll also have me," Dorian reminded her, a spark in his eyes. "I'm familiar with Alexius's magical shenanigans, and I can help you, should things go south. Pardon the geography pun."

Cullen regarded Dorian with a suspicious look for just a moment, then turned his eyes back to Nanyehi. "You're certain you want to go through with this?"

"Completely," Nanyehi said.

"Then I suppose it's settled," Josephine conceded.

"We should not tarry." Leliana walked around the table, making for the fortified door and pausing just before she left. "If you could depart for Redcliffe tomorrow morning, Herald, that would be most wise. I would suggest bringing no more than four others with you – more would make Magister Alexius needlessly suspicious."

Nani distractedly watched Leliana leave, Josephine following shortly after her. She knew Finn would come with her, and that settled her greatly. They'd survived worse things already, overcome much more ridiculous odds – there was no way they'd fail here. She wouldn't let herself. Not when the stakes were so high.

"I'll see you bright and early tomorrow, Nani," Finn said, giving her a last pat on the shoulder before he, too, left the war room. Then Dorian departed, leaving Nani alone with Cullen.

She was about to leave as well, when he cleared his throat.

"A word?" he said.

"Certainly." She leaned on one hip, half expecting to be chewed out for their decision.

"I…" He shook his head, glancing briefly at the floor. "Doing this will put you in grave danger. You understand that, don't you? We should not have the right to force you to do this. Say the word, and I'll do everything in my power to secure the Templars. You have only to ask."

"I don't mind a bit of danger," she said, shrugging.

"If you died, I – all hope would be lost. You must know that."

"I do."

"Then I suppose there's nothing more to be said." He strode past her, pausing to look down at her with those warm brown eyes of his. "Be safe. You're all we have."

And with that, he left her standing alone in the war room, staring at a flickering lantern on the wall and trying to make sense of literally her entire life thus far.


	14. Back to the Future

It nearly seemed overkill, Finn thought, hiding a few Inquisition spies in the hilly forests outside Redcliffe and telling them to sneak into the castle a little while after them for backup purposes.

But necessary, probably. Once inside, Nani was only accompanied by Cassandra, Iron Bull, Dorian, and Finn himself; if she ran into trouble, and if Alexius decided to try and fry her into the floor like an egg and eat her for breakfast, the troops would be close by to prevent that sort of thing.

Redcliffe Castle loomed ahead of them, all black and imposing, a bulwark against the wind and rain and sea; it sat on a blackened rock island of sorts, connected to the village by nothing save a few wooden boats rocking in the ocean's swells. Finn gazed up at its expanse as the five of them neared the village market, wondering how they could've built such a castle without losing workers.

Perhaps there _had_ been casualties.

Speaking of casualties, there'd nearly been one when they closed the rift outside Redcliffe's gates; Iron Bull's blood-spattering, earth-rumbling reaver tactics had whipped him into such a frenzy that he'd nearly decapitated Finn with a whirlwind swing while taking down a shade. Had Dorian not grabbed the back of Finn's armor and yanked him out of the way, well…he'd be headless, and the group would be Finn-less.

Before he could step any further, Dorian grabbed the crook of his arm, pulling him a step back.

"I've got a thought, Nanyehi," Dorian said, still holding onto Finn's arm; Nani, Cassandra and Bull stopped, turning to face the two mages.

"Only one?" Finn said. "That's not like you."

"This should be good," Bull said.

Dorian gave Bull a particularly acidic frown. " _Yeeeess_. This is the point where the evil Vint pushes the lot of you off the cliffs and cackles madly to himself as he skips back to Tevinter. No, my thought is this – you won't want to put all of your cards on the table, as it were. Alexius doesn't even know I'm here. If a couple of us, namely Finn and myself, don't show ourselves up front, we can use the element of surprise to our advantage should things get…dicey."

Nani didn't speak for a moment, her aquamarine eyes flickering back and forth between Finn and Dorian.

"Good," she said finally. "That's good. I like it. Cassandra and Bull should be intimidating enough, but he might miscalculate and not account for any mages if you two stay hidden."

"Then it's settled." Dorian plopped a hand on Finn's shoulder, pushing him a little further away from the three of them (not without resistance, of course). "We'll be close by. Count on it."

" _Hey_ ," Finn protested. "Nani, I should be in there with you."

But Dorian's hand was firm on his shoulder, and his grip tightened every time Finn tried to make a move towards his sister.

Nanyehi rolled her eyes. "I'll be safe, Finn. Besides, this makes sense. Don't forget everything I've taught you about sneaking, all right? You may need it."

Cassandra must've caught Finn's worried expression as well, because her normally fierce eyes softened just a touch, and she clapped hand briefly on Nanyehi's shoulder. "She will not come to harm with me here, Finn," she promised him. "And as much as I hate to agree with the Tevinter, it makes sense for us to do this."

Finn's shoulders slumped, and he gave a noncommittal half-smile. "I suppose."

Nani sucked in a deep breath and expelled it loudly, obviously trying to settle some nerves. "It'll be fine, Finn." She turned to the two warriors. "Let's not waste any more time."

"Here goes," Bull said as he, Nani, and Cassandra turned and headed for the castle.

Finn watched them go, wondering if he wouldn't make it into the castle too late and if this glimpse of his sister's back and her wine-red hair would be his last. He crossed his arms and looked up at Dorian, raising an eyebrow. "Are you pleased with yourself?"

"Immensely," Dorian said with a confident grin. " _Oh_ , you speak of our discussion just now. It's all strategy, Finn. Haven't you gambled before? Never throw all your cards on the table from the get-go. You must always keep a secret tool at your disposal."

"Oh, I've got a tool with me," Finn huffed.

Dorian's black brows threatened to reach his hairline, his eyes heavy-lidded and suspicious. "Rather hostile today, are we?"

Finn's shoulders slumped and he breathed out a sharp breath. "I'm sorry. I tend to get…well, overprotective of Nani. Older brother issues and all. And it worries me to not be in there."

"I understand the sentiment." Dorian peered across the water at the castle. "But I wouldn't start fretting. We'll be in there shortly, so long as we aren't noticed by any Venatori."

"Fair enough," Finn said. "How do you propose we get in? No doubt there are guards everywhere." He agitatedly pulled at a strand of his white hair. "There's a servant's entrance somewhere, I'll bet. Oh! Didn't Leliana mention that tunnel through the windmill?"

Dorian smiled triumphantly. "Right you are."

"How does it reach the castle?" Finn mused aloud. "Does it go _under_ the water? What an odd thought."

"Stranger things have been built," Dorian mentioned.

"There's something I don't understand." Finn cocked his head in confusion. "Why'd you pull _me_ back? You could've pulled Bull back with you, then unleashed the Qunari surprise on the Venatori and had him rip their arses in half. Why not guard our most terrifying asset?"

"One, that was astoundingly raunchy," Dorian mentioned. "Bravo. And two – well, that reason will have to be my own."

Finn frowned. "I'm not allowed to know?"

"I have to keep some secrets, don't I? Where would I be without my mysterious flair?" Dorian dropped his hand, which Finn realized had been on his shoulder the whole time, and set off down the village road. "Come along. Let's reach that windmill."

"We're going to have to be quick," Finn mentioned, lengthening his stride to keep up with Dorian's longer legs. Fern leaves and broken twigs crunched under his feet. "Negotiations could go south extremely fast, and I don't want Nani to get into trouble without me being there."

" _Finn_." Dorian sounded half-exasperated, half-bemused. "She's a successful hunter, yes? Led many hunting parties and all that? Goodness knows she can probably handle herself."

"I know that." Finn shrugged as they walked hastily past a merchant peddling common herbs and baubles in the middle of town. His shoulder nearly brushed a woman carrying a basket of leeks, but he dodged her just in time. "But I hate taking chances. She's the only family I've got left."

"You don't consider your clan as your family?" Dorian threaded through a group of squabbling woman, who gave both men rather lascivious up-and-down glances as they passed.

Finn shook his head with a wry tweak to his mouth. "I kind of had to abandon that when we came here. I have no idea if I'll ever see them again, with the way things are going. You know, Thedas about to be destroyed and all."

"I know the feeling," Dorian said.

They reached the windmill at the top of the hill shortly, and Finn marveled at what it once was. Ten years ago, when he'd come to Redcliffe because the Wardens had mistakenly believed the darkspawn horde would come there, the windmill had been a proud edifice, a strong stone fixture over the cliffs. Now most of the stones had crumbled, leaving a gaping maw exposed in the windmill's side, and others were choked with vines and weeds.

Still, a secret entrance was a secret entrance.

"Wow," Finn said, briefly resting his hands on his hips and gazing up at the ruined tower. "The Blight really took a shit on this building."

"Eloquently put, my friend," Dorian teased. "Didn't the Blight, as you say, take a shit on everything?"

"Close. It tried." Finn stepped carefully over scattered chunks of rubble, waving dust out of his face. "The Wardens stopped it, thank the Creators."

"You might give yourself a bit of the accolades," Dorian commented, following him inside. The other mage coughed. "Delightful. I think I've just picked up a lung disease."

Finn chuckled. "You'll live." He spotted a conspicuous looking mess of loose gravel on the floor, and he crossed over to it, nudging aside the pieces with his foot. As he suspected, beneath it was a noticeable trapdoor, its planks rotted with age. "Just as she said. The family's old escape route."

"So it would seem." Dorian crouched at the trapdoor, heaving it open with a loud thunk. "Hard to tell how far the drop is. There doesn't seem to be a ladder leading down, at least not anymore."

"Only one way to find out!" Finn leapt feet-first through the opening, dropping through it with a cold rushing of wind; he held his arms out to brace himself, the breath _whoosh_ ing out of his lungs as his feet hit the stone floor hard.

"You mad bastard," Dorian called down. "Did you die when you hit the floor?"

"I'd be inclined to say no," Finn called back up.

He took the moment to study their new surroundings as Dorian followed him down through the opening. Despite the darkness, he could make out sloped stone ceilings and rows of barred iron doors along the sides of the tunnels; it appeared they'd entered Redcliffe Castle's prisons. Luckily, as Finn stepped silently through the tunnel and checked each cell, it seemed they were vacant.

"I'd light a fire, but that might alert any Venatori to our location," Dorian said. "So that leaves us with impaired eyesight. Me, at least. You've got that bizarre, neon shine your eyes pick up in the dark. Helps you see, doesn't it? I believe we call it tapetum lucidum back home."

"So that's what it is," Finn said. He'd been wondering if the word for it would be elven or tevene. "Yeah, I can see just fine. But you never know. I could 'accidentally' steer you into a cabinet and 'accidentally' bump the lock and leave you in there for the rest of eternity."

"How gallant," Dorian said dryly. "At least I'd make a ridiculously handsome corpse."

"That's us. The gallant elfy prince and the handsome dead guy." Finn stepped up his pace to a jog, to cover more ground faster; this tunnel was the longest he'd ever seen. His feet barely made a noise on the cold stone floors.

He finally reached the end of the long cavern after what felt like an hour and peered out, motioning for Dorian to follow. "I don't know if we're in the cellars or what, but I bet I can find a passage that takes us into the main body of the castle. I think I can recognize Alexius's voice once it's close enough – if I can catch it, we're home free."

"You can hear that far?" Dorian asked as Finn made his way down the dusty old hallway, past a few closed wooden doors and down a ninety-degree turn. "Astonishing. I should study you more often."

"I hear all, ' _ma falon_." Finn tugged at his ear. "Ears this big can even hear your thoughts."

Dorian laughed softly to himself. "I wonder if you'd like what you heard there."

"Hard to know, considering I'm lying out of my arse." Finn jogged down the hall to the end, nearly bumping into a rickety end table in his haste. His suspicions about a cutaway in the wall had been correct; upon inspection, he saw a set of stairs spiraling upwards. He hesitated, catching a noise in the hall directly above. "I hear voices. Venatori?"

"Likely," Dorian said. "Alexius is confident, but not stupid. He'll have guards on rotation in the halls. If we're fortunate, we'll catch a small group and get by before another comes our way."

Finn briefly looked over his shoulder. "They can't know you're here. They'll recognize you immediately. But me… I'll bet I could pass for a suspicious elven servant. Enough to get their attention, at least. Here." He unstrapped his staff and handed it to Dorian. "Hang onto this. I'm going to see if I can draw them away. Or distract them so you can get by."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "You're off your rocker. You know that, don't you?"

"At least I never falsely advertised." Finn offered Dorian a quick grin, then ran up the stairs towards the voices.

His ears hadn't misled him; in the short hallway at the top of the stairs he saw what looked like two Tevinter troops – didn't seem to be of the mage variety – leaning against the walls and talking to each other. Wanting to play the part of an errant servant, he whistled out of tune as he approached, keeping his head down to see if they'd let him pass.

They didn't; one of the men grabbed his shoulder before he could walk fully by, saying, " _hey_. Where'd you get that armor, knife-ear? You steal it from someone?"

"Of course not, my good ser." Finn bowed. "Where'd you get _your_ armor?"

"You're full of shit, _elf_." The man gave his shoulder a hefty shove, and Finn bumped back against the wall. Next thing Finn knew the man grabbed his jaw, turning his face back and forth. "Say, you aren't half bad looking, and you aren't even a lady. Good thing I don't discriminate."

Of all the… Did the Venatori have _any_ redeeming qualities?

"Why don't you pull off that armor?" the other man said, appearing at his friend's shoulder. "Give it to someone who can actually make use of it."

Finn tightened his eyes into a glare. "I don't know, why don't I stuff it up your arse instead? I think it's big enough to hold it, considering it's been housing your _head_ all these years."

The first man pulled his fist back and cracked it into Finn's jaw; Finn slammed back against the wall, grit his teeth, recovered, and smashed his fist into the man's nose. Damn good thing neither of them were wearing helms of any sort, or that would've broken Finn's hand. The man reeled back into the second one, and both stumbled, only to burst into flames. Finn watched the incinerated bodies crumple to the ground and send up little plumes of ash before he glanced over, spotting Dorian standing in the hall with fire crackling in his right palm.

" _Mmmph_ ," Finn grunted, rubbing his jaw; he knew it would bruise. "Weren't you supposed to sneak past?"

"Weren't you supposed to refrain from getting punched in the face?" Dorian quipped, extinguishing the fire in his hand and approaching Finn. Something flickered through his grey eyes, something brief and nigh on indecipherable. Without warning he cupped Finn's jaw in his warm hand, tilting his face slightly to get a better look. "That looked like a doozy. And you're going to have a splendid welt there, I'll wager. Are you all right?"

"I'll be fine. Bruises are manly, right?" Finn looked up, listening. "I think I hear…Nani, actually. Down that way." He pointed. "Let's go."

Dorian dropped his hand and offered Finn his staff back; Finn returned it to his back before cracking a door open and ducking into the room.

They'd entered a small room with high, arched wooden beams and ornate cabinets at each wall; Finn spotted a heavy, metal-fortified wooden door at the opposite side and jogged lightly over to it, stopping and brushing his ear against it.

"What are you hearing?" Dorian whispered.

Finn listened, catching his sister's voice with a short jolt of relief that she was still alive. But she'd stopped talking, her voice followed immediately by Alexius's. " _My friend_ ," he whispered, giving Dorian a running narrative of what was going on in the room. " _I've been acquainted with your brother, but I was most looking forward to meeting you. So you are the fabled Herald of Andraste_."

Dorian frowned, getting a wrinkle between his eyebrows that Finn rather wanted to smooth out. "What's he playing at?" he whispered, drowning out Nani's answer. "There's something he wants out of her. That much I know."

Finn nodded, pressing his ear a little harder against the wall. "Nani must've just gotten here. That's a quick escape route we found." He paused, listening. "Alexius… _and your associates, of course. I'm sure we can come to an arrangement that is equitable to all parties_. Nothing from Nani yet… Huh. It's…Fiona. _Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?_ "

"You handed Redcliffe to the Venatori, you dithering twit," Dorian hissed.

Finn tried not to laugh as he kept listening. "Alexius again. _Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives_." Another voice, his sister's lighter-pitched one, joined the mix once again. "It's Nani… _She should be part of this discussion if she wants. What's the harm?_ "

Dorian didn't say anything, his eyes trained on Finn's face as he listened.

"Alexius," Finn whispered. " _The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?"_

"This is where things get tricky," Dorian muttered. "Alexius is a careful negotiator. He'll fight for what he wants out of her."

"Nani again," Finn said. " _I shouldn't have to offer anything at all, Alexius. I'm not asking for mages for some unreasonable cause. This is the Breach we're talking about. Eventually it'll swallow up Tevinter, too, if we don't stop it. And besides…your cult wants me, don't they? And I'm not about to offer myself up as payment for the mages."_ Finn lightly thumped his forehead against the door. "Bloody hell. Nani was never good at this whole knowing-when-to-hold-'em thing."

"No, no, it might be salvageable," Dorian encouraged, resting a hand against the door. "She may have the right of it, drawing him into the open."

Finn's eyes widened, and he looked up at Dorian.

"What?" Dorian asked. "What happened in there?"

"Felix," Finn whispered. "He just exposed himself. He told Alexius that Nani knows everything."

" _Kaffas,"_ Dorian cursed, his eyes tight.

Finn pressed his ear hard against the door.

" _Don't blame Felix,"_ Finn continued, translating Nani's words for Dorian. " _He's only concerned that you've gotten yourself involved in something terrible. Which you have_." He listened to Alexius's words, his eyes narrowing into near slits. " _So speaks the thief. Do you think you can turn my son against me?_ What thief? Dorian, what's he talking about?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," Dorian answered with a worried look.

" _You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark – a gift you don't even understand – and think you're in control?"_ Finn repeated from Alexius. " _You're nothing but a mistake_." He growled under his breath and gripped the door handle. "That's it. I'm – "

"Patience," Dorian insisted, drawing Finn's hand away from the door.

In his anger, Finn forgot to repeat the words so Dorian could hear them. But he could clearly hear Nani calmly ask what Alexius knew about the mark, and Alexius's response: _It was the Elder One's moment, and you were unworthy even to stand in His presence._

Finn's lips thinned. "Who's this Elder One?"

" _What?"_ Dorian hissed.

Finn held up a hand. "Felix is talking… _Father, listen to yourself! Do you know what you sound like?_ Dorian, someone's going to get hurt. Or, you know, worse. We need to go in there."

"I couldn't agree more," Dorian said, his voice lowered with anger; he opened the door with a bang and motioned for Finn to keep close as he strode into the main hall. Finn stayed a step behind Dorian and to the left, his eyes trained for any sudden attack by the Venatori guards lining the hall's dark stone walls. "Ah, Felix," Dorian said. "He sounds like the villainous cliché everyone expects us to be."

All eyes turned to them.

"Dorian," Alexius grunted as the two mages stepped closer. "I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down."

Dorian shrugged flippantly as the two of them reached Nani, Cassandra, and Bull. "Goodness, I can't possibly imagine why I would do such a thing."

Alexius's eyes narrowed. "The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes."

"Well roast my arse and call me a nug, that's exactly what this world needs," Finn snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. "Who's this Elder Arsehole, eh? Is he the one who killed the Divine? A mage, I take it? Why'd he do it, then? Glory? Power? Shits and giggles?"

"Insolent elf," Alexius hissed. "Soon he will become a god!"

"We're all crazy," Finn said, throwing his hands in the air.

"None of this is possible, Alexius," Nanyehi said, moving ever so slightly into a fighting stance. Finn could read her like an open book, and she was about to resort to violence. "You can't just _become_ a god. Gods are gods, and people are people. That's how it _is_. Mythal didn't just decide one day to invade the pantheon and become a god herself."

"That is where you're wrong." Alexius chuckled darkly, pacing halfway across the stone dais, and Felix regarded him with a concerned look. " _He_ will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas."

"You can't involve my people in this!" Fiona cried.

"You accomplished that yourself," Cassandra snapped from Nanyehi's right.

" _Alexius_." Dorian held his hands up in the universal signal for stopping this complete nonsense. "This is exactly what you and I talked about _never_ wanting to happen! Why would you support this?"

Finn opened his mouth to say something snarky, but was interrupted by Felix.

"Stop this, Father!" Felix insisted. "Give up the Venatori. Let the Southern mages fight the Breach, and let's go home."

"No!" Alexius turned to Felix with a mournful look. "It's the only way, Felix. He can save you!"

"Save me?" Felix snapped back. "I'm going to die! You need to accept that!"

"Save him?" Finn asked.

"Felix has been ill for quite a while," Dorian whispered down to Finn. "A chronic thing. But – "

"There _is_ a way," Alexius was saying. "The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the Temple…"

Nani's hand twitched towards the bow at her back. "Undo the mistake at the Temple? You just referred to me as the mistake earlier. What, then? What's this nefarious plan of yours? Undo _me?_ That's a fancy way to say you want me dead."

As if Finn would let that happen.

"You should never have existed!" Alexius pointed a gauntleted hand Nani's way. "Seize them! Seize them all! The Elder One demands this meddling elf's life!"

Finn threw an arm out in front of Nanyehi and drew deep into his mana reserves, expecting to have to unleash the elements on the Venatori, but he didn't have to – a collective gagging and slashing echoed through the hall as Inquisition agents appeared as if from nowhere, slitting the guards' throats. Their armored bodies fell to the floor with heavy metallic crashes, and the din was nearly deafening.

Alexius's weathered face filled with rage. He tore an amulet from off his neck and suspended it over his opened palm, charging it with iridescent green magic. The magic swelled, pulsed, a crackling filling Finn's ears.

"No!" Dorian yelled as the magic from the amulet exploded. He whipped his staff in an arc and countered the spell just barely; Finn grabbed Nani and shielded her eyes as rock and shrapnel sprayed around them, and the green magic slid hot and sparking over them all.

There was a tremendous _boom_ , then a bizarre flipping sensation, as if they were spinning in space even though Finn knew his feet were still firmly planted on the floor. Nani's hair whipped into his face from the force of the wind current. He squinted his eyes shut.

Then a surge of magic rocked the world, tearing Finn from Nani and flinging him hard against a stone wall. He ricocheted against it and fell down into murky standing water.

_Water?..._

Resisting the urge to suck in a breath and fill his lungs with water, he pushed his hands against the floor and staggered to his feet, brownish water dripping from his hair and streaming in rivulets down his face. He just barely saw Nani and Dorian effortlessly take out two Venatori guards, who had just started to come into the cell.

Wait…cell?

Finn glanced around him, breathing hard. They were indeed no longer in Redcliffe Castle's main hall, but standing in a dank, shadowed cell that was flooded with a couple feet of water, massive stalagmites of glowing red lyrium jutting out of the dripping wet walls.

Huh. This hadn't been there before. Or _they_ hadn't been _here_ before.

"What the hell is this?" Nani asked, swirling the dirty water about with her foot. "Where are we?"

"Displacement," Dorian said, stroking his chin. "Interesting."

"Dorian, you're making no sense," Finn chided.

"You saw the spell as well as I did." Dorian smoothed his ebony hair back. "It's probably not what Alexius intended, though. It must have moved us…to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy? We were just in the castle hall, yes? Let's see… If we're still in the castle, it isn't… Oh! Of course! It's not simply where, it's _when!_ Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time!"

"That's it," Nani growled, her knuckles white where she gripped her bow. "Somebody dies."

"Not someone in this room, hopefully," Finn said, holding his hands up in surrender.

"But how far did we go forward?" Dorian said, pacing, the water dirtying his armored robes. He looked more excited and fascinated than anything else. "Or how far back? There are so many possibilities. We'll have to find out for sure, won't we? Let's look around. See where the spell took us. Then we can figure out how to get back… if we can."

"You helped him develop this magic, you said," Finn reminded him. "I take it you're the only one who might know how to reverse it?"

"Yes." Dorian stopped his pacing, turning to look at Finn and Nani. "I believe the magic he used to send us here was in the form of a rift, just like the ones all over Redcliffe. And we've got our very own master of rifts, do we not?" He pointed in Nani's direction. "I'm vaguely familiar with the theory of it, and I can give it a go. Provided we _one_ , decipher _when_ we are, and _two_ , uncover that focus amulet."

Nani wrung out her wet hair over her shoulder, then pulled a leather strip from her wrist and tied her hair up in a low knot at the nape of her neck. "I'll trust your word, Dorian. But there's no telling how much trouble we'll encounter. No doubt wherever…or, whenever…we went to, it isn't particularly safe."

Dorian laughed. "No, very likely not. But don't you worry. I'm here. I'll protect you."

He'd said that to Nanyehi, hadn't he? Then why, Finn wondered, had he glanced right at _Finn_ when he'd spoken the words?

"Wait, hold on." Finn shook his head vehemently. "I know you're perfectly capable, Dorian, but there's a flaw here. We're going to need you to reverse the spell, right? So if you die, we're toast. And we need the mark on Nani's hand to power a rift to send us back. So here's the thing – out of the three of us, _I'm_ the only expendable one."

Dorian's smile faded. "I wouldn't say so."

"Finn, you're not expendable," Nani protested.

"In this situation I am," Finn argued. He dragged a hand through his wet, tangled hair. "If we encounter any more Venatori along the way, I'm taking them on myself." Dorian and Nanyehi simultaneously opened their mouths, but Finn interrupted them. "No. If one of you falls in battle, we'll never fix this. I'm willing to do this, and I'm not taking no for an answer. Let's go. But you both are _staying behind me_."

"We'll guard your back," Nani tried as Finn approached the cell's iron door.

Finn shook his head, slipping through the opening.


	15. The Nature of Sacrifice

Finn led the way carefully through the castle prisons – not before grabbing a large, rusted metal key he saw sitting on a crate before he left the lower level cell they'd popped into, though. Could be useful. Stagnant water sloshed around his feet, impairing his movements; every so often more stale water would burst in a torrent from a hole in the ceiling, drenching his already soaked body. He squinted and soldiered on, not wanting to waste any more breaths in this place.

The red lyrium was everywhere, choking the walls like a crystalline cancer, its song humming faintly in Finn's ears. He felt the broiling heat pouring off each stalagmite of it, even without touching it.

"Be extra careful walking around those, Finn," Dorian cautioned him. "I don't know much about red lyrium, but if _normal_ lyrium has the ability to explode at random… Well. I'm sure you understand my point."

"It's hard to avoid them," Finn pointed out, skirting around an extra large spike of lyrium. "What am I supposed to do if it does explode? Use you as a human shield?"

"And damage such a dashing face?" Dorian said.

Finn shook his head. "No. I guess I'm just going to die."

Dorian chuckled. "Well, we can't have that."

"Do you think Cassandra and Iron Bull are here?" Nani asked from behind Finn as he jogged up a set of slippery stairs, her footsteps padding lightly on the stones. "Would they still be alive? I can't even imagine…"

"All of those answers depend highly on _when_ we are," Dorian reminded her.

Finn made his way through the twisting corridors of the ruined prison, eventually climbing another set of stairs and pushing through a wooden door that creaked horrendously on its hinges. He took a step through the opening, then pulled his leg back, motioning for Dorian and Nani to back up.

"See that?" he whispered, pointing past the door. Ahead of him was a large metal grate suspended over a long drop that probably spat out over castle docks, a steady stream of water pouring through the middle from the ceiling above. There were two doors across the grate, opposite each other, and in front of each was a Venatori guard. "Two guards, there and there." He pointed at them in turn. "I can take them just fine. If they start to come towards you, shut the door and brace it. I'll live."

" _I'll fight every battle for you_ , he says, like the knight in shining armor," Dorian said dryly. "Where'd you pick up this martyr complex, Finn? Books? The martyr often suffers before he dies in some horrid fashion. You must know that."

"Finn – " Nani started.

Finn held up a hand. " _Come on_. I'm expendable, remember? I'm that nameless hooligan that charges out onto the battlefield and gets stabbed two pages in. Well…hopefully not _that_. Regardless, those guards are about to hear us and I'm leaving you two here. So long."

With that he yanked his staff off his back and strode out onto the grate, feeling the metal reverberate beneath his cloth-wrapped feet.

There was only two, at least. Finn used the element of surprise on the first guard, aiming his staff and sending an ice bolt through the man's throat. Damn good thing he'd practiced aiming so many times, or else he'd have lost his advantage. The second one, however, had already noticed him and lifted his sword, charging Finn with a war cry.

Finn dodged out of the way, his feet skidding on the grate; he looked over and realized he'd nearly reached the edge. He'd have to be more careful.

He lifted his staff to fire again, only able to shoot an ice shard and miss by only an inch before he was forced to leap out of the way of the man's swinging sword. So much for his aiming practice. It was a close call – Finn jumped back, trying to get a good distance away, but the man was advancing on him, the ruthless edge of his blade coming all too close to Finn's lightly armored tunic.

There was a whistling sound, and then an arrow sprouted through the man's throat; he stumbled, gagging, and another arrow pierced an inch away from the second. The man's body slumped to the grate, his sword clattering away.

Finn fixed Nani with a glare, and she shrugged, returning her bow to her back. "I said I'd guard your back," she said.

Rolling his eyes, Finn motioned for Dorian and Nani to join him on the grate. "You're a stubborn arse," he told his sister.

"I'm related to _you_ ," she fired back.

He shrugged. Couldn't really argue with that one.

Making a split second choice, he strode towards one of the doors, briefly looking over his shoulder at Dorian. "Do you happen to know a barrier spell?" he asked his fellow mage.

"Regrettably, no," Dorian said, his expression sobering. "I spent much of my time focusing on offensive spells. Fire and shock and the like – and, of course, the occasional dabbling in necromancy. But that's for another time. Don't you think I would have thrown a barrier over you if I knew a spell?"

 _Be still, my ill-timed beating heart_ , Finn thought wryly. "That's a bummer."

" _Dirth'ena enasalin_ ," Nani breathed as Finn reached the door. "That's what you're going after, isn't it?"

"Too late now," Finn said, swinging the door open.

Had Dorian known a barrier spell, Finn might've been able to try the battlemage techniques as a last ditch effort. But, considering neither of them knew a proper spell for it, he'd have to manage with old fashioned dodging. It was lucky for him that Nani – and most of his clan members – were rogues; he'd picked up some of the moves from watching them hunt.

The door took them down a set of stairs, through a short corridor lined with cells, and down more stairs. Finn picked up a run as he went, listening for any suspicious noises.

He skidded to a stop at one door, hearing something odd.

It was Iron Bull's voice; he could tell that much. And from the sound of it, the Qunari was singing a gravelly drinking song. Finn gripped the door handle and pushed the door open, entering a room lined with cells. He spotted Bull in one, standing with his back to them.

Already Finn could tell something was wrong. Bull's massive form crackled all over with reddish pulses, and when the Qunari turned around, the whites of his eyes were glowing faintly with a sickening crimson essence.

 _"What?"_ Bull said, staring at them like he'd just witnessed a chicken sprout fangs and eat an entire village whole. "You're…not dead? You're supposed to be dead." He took a step forwards and gripped the cell bars in his hefty hands. "There was a burn on the ground and everything. Even a piece of that freaky white hair you have on your head."

Nani plucked the key from Finn's pocket and hurried to unlock the iron door.

"Well, we aren't dead, as you can plainly tell," Dorian explained. "Alexius sent us through time. How far ahead, we're not certain. This is our future."

"Your future." Bull laughed, shaking his head. Finn noticed his voice was distorted, his muscles visibly hard with tension. "Well, it's _my_ present. And in my past, I definitely saw all three of you die. Burned. Roasted. Turned into ash flakes. You get my meaning."

"Here's the thing, Bull." Triumphant, Nani swung the barred cell door open and slipped the key into her pocket. "That's just what it _looked_ like. Dorian countered Alexius's spell and it flung us here. Where – _when_ – this is, we still don't know. But we're clearly not dead."

Bull growled low in his throat. "So now dead and not-dead are up for debate? _Great_. Your dead but not-dead selves have come here just to annoy me with bad conversation, apparently." He jerked his head towards Finn. "You want to freeze me, pal? Freeze my head right off. Make it quick."

"This conversation has taken a turn for the moronic," Dorian said.

"Bull, do you have any idea when we are?" Finn asked, keeping his voice at a stable level – Iron Bull seemed ready to burst into a murderous rampage at any moment.

"It's today, and that's all I know," Bull snapped. "You think I've been counting the days here?"

"That's a no," Nani said. "Look…we're trying to reset things. If we can find Alexius's amulet and redo the spell, we can return to whenever this mess started. Or so Dorian says."

"Great. Trust the Vint," Iron Bull said. "Didn't I warn you about the pretty ones?"

"The _evil Vint_ is trying to escort you imbeciles back to the past and stop all this before it happens," Dorian snapped back. "Exciting, yes? We can do that. Just come with us. We're going to find Alexius, _hopefully_ , and fight him for that focus amulet."

"And then draw dirty pictures on his forehead," Finn said. All three of them shot him varied looks, Dorian's being the most amused. "What? Come on. I think we deserve that much."

"Here's the thing." Bull glanced towards the door, as if expecting something to come in at any moment. Maybe something would. "It's not Alexius that's the big problem. It's his Elder One. He slaughtered the Empress of Orlais and invaded the south with a demon army. _A giant fucking demon army_. You ever fought a demon army? I don't recommend it."

"That calls for a hearty 'well, shit'," Finn said, shaking his head.

Nani hung her head just briefly, tracing her toe along the floor beneath her and stirring up the stagnant water. "We can prevent this," she said firmly – whether she was reminding all of them or just herself, Finn didn't know. "This doesn't have to happen." She raised her head. "I can't even imagine the pain you're in, Bull. But if we can make it all right…maybe you won't remember. We have to try. Are you in?"

"Oh, I'm in." Finally, a confident smile slipped across Bull's features. "I'm been wanting to kick some ass."

"And there is certainly plenty of arse," Finn reassured him. "Let's go."

* * *

A year.

Cassandra sat in the cell she'd been locked in, leaning against the one wall that didn't have red lyrium growing out of it. She hunched over, burying her face in her gloved hands.

She knew it had been a year since their failure in Redcliffe Castle's main hall. Cassandra didn't forget details like those. She could still vividly remember the flash of green, the burning, the smoking scar on the floor where Nanyehi, Finn, and Dorian had once been. She could remember ripping her sword out of its sheath, a war cry tearing from her throat, trying to avenge the lives lost…and the sheer horror of being overwhelmed.

The Herald hadn't deserved to die in such a gruesome fashion, her flesh incinerated so quickly that nothing was left of her within the blink of an eye. Cassandra still felt grief twist her heart when she thought about it.

She'd heard about the world events through the bars of her cell, listening to snippets of the guards' conversations. When they mentioned Empress Celene's death, her heart hardened into steel. When they talked of the demon army that flooded into the south like a tidal wave and decimated everything in its wake, she nearly wept.

But she didn't. She wouldn't give them that satisfaction.

"For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water," Cassandra whispered to herself, the words of the Chant her only solace in this place. She'd been reciting the Chant whenever she could, reminding herself that the Maker still existed. That Andraste would guide them all, even after the death of her young elven Herald.

"Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter…"

She could feel the red lyrium sickness spreading through her blood like arsenic, the hot, stifling buzzing of the lyrium veins stinging her skin, making her eyes water. Being so close to it for so long should have killed her already, but she'd stayed strong, for Nanyehi's memory, for Finn's, even for Dorian's.

For Leliana, who Cassandra knew had been captured trying to infiltrate the castle, whose screams Cassandra could hear echoing through the stone corridors. That Leliana's skin was being studied for its Blight tolerance was the only thing Cassandra knew.

"The champions of the just…"

Her voice was raw, cracking. She wanted water so badly, clean water, not the polluted brine swimming at the bottom of her cell. But she would stay strong.

She opened her mouth, to speak more words of the Chant, but closed it when she thought she heard voices.

"I'm not sure what's worse – the giant red lyrium crystal, or the tacky dog carving in the wall underneath it," a man said. His voice sounded almost like Dorian's.

"Can we just agree they both suck?" That one sounded like Finn.

"You both have your heads screwed on backwards." Iron Bull?

She must've been hallucinating. It was the only explanation. And maybe that meant she was dying. As relieving as that sound, Cassandra couldn't give up just yet.

The prison room's door opened, and in strode the most vivid, believable manifestation Cassandra had ever witnessed – Finn, then Nanyehi, then Dorian, and finally Iron Bull, all armed to the teeth.

"You can't…" Cassandra started to say.

"There you are!" Nanyehi said, running to the door and fumbling with the key to unlock it. The rusty iron hinges groaned as it opened. The slender elf stood there, watching Cassandra, waiting for her to make a move and show she was alive.

How could this be possible?

"You're alive?" Cassandra said, struggling to her feet. "How – "

"Alexius's magic," Nanyehi explained. "It didn't burn us into the floor, it sent us forward in time. We're going to find Alexius and prevent what's happened. It'll be all right. I promise."

Cassandra staggered forward and grabbed Nanyehi by the arms, burying her face in the elf's shoulder. It wasn't a hug by any conventional sense – Cassandra had never been good at giving those – but it was as close to one as she knew how to do. Nanyehi hesitated, then hugged her tight, gently patting her back and reassuring her it would be over soon.

Hope. _Life_. Suddenly, all over again, Cassandra knew what those were.

* * *

"Creators almighty, I think that was the last rift," Nanyehi said, rubbing her left palm with her thumb in harsh, pressing strokes.

They stood outside the castle's main hall, a mess of demonic dust scattered across the floor and choking the air. Finn watched pain flash across his sister's features, and she tried to hide it but failed. The path to this point had been a doozy; there'd been demons and Venatori guards crawling all over the castle, not to mention the several rifts popping open in the courtyard as they tried to run through it. Finn couldn't even imagine the excruciating pain Nani must have been in from closing so many rifts. How many had been in the courtyard? Two? Three? He'd forgotten to count.

At least Cassandra and Bull had eventually found their stride, and both looked a little more invigorated, now that they'd been out of their cells. Finn knew they wouldn't last much longer, so sickened by red lyrium poisoning as they were. But hopefully, they could reverse this tragic future before anyone had to die.

He glanced over at Leliana, still unable to stop the blood from roaring through his ears and the clenching of his gut when he saw her.

They'd found her hanging from the wall by her manacled wrists, strangling a torturer to death with her legs. The woman's previously fair, lovely face had been mutilated into a shadow of its former beauty; Leliana looked like a ghoul, with sunken eye sockets and a face so scarred it appeared corpselike. She flatly refused to speak of what had happened to her, and Finn honestly couldn't blame her. But she _had_ lent her arrows to their cause, firing so quickly and accurately that if one didn't look at her, they could almost imagine she'd never been harmed.

Dorian had tried to question her, in his curious manner, as they'd woven through the halls before they'd reached the courtyard. She'd snapped at him time and time again until he'd stopped, and their group had been largely silent after that.

 _Weary_ , Finn thought. _We're all so weary. But we can't rest until this is over._

Leliana's fate, gruesome as it was, might not have been the most horrid. They'd found Fiona in one of the cells, so parasitized by red lyrium that it was actually growing _out of her body_ , and she'd barely been alive when she'd spoken to them. Even though both of them had seen their fair share of death and gore, Finn and Nani had both nearly gagged at the sight.

He had to stop thinking about it.

Now Dorian knelt at the corpse of a Venatori mage, deep in thought, his hand on his chin.

"There must be something we can use to open that door," Dorian said.

They'd been pondering the solution for a good half of an hour now. Blocking their way into the main hall was a heavy metal door that didn't budge no matter how much ice Finn had hurled its way – and he'd nearly drained his mana doing so. Bull had tried giving it a few good whacks as well, to no avail.

"Search again," Leliana said. "If there is anything, we will find it."

"Here." Nani sunk to her knees at the corpse's other side. "I've been rifling through corpse's belongings since I could walk. I'll try."

"You laugh, but it's true," Finn said, watching Nani slip her nimble hands into every pocket and fold and opening, searching for something that could signal that door to open.

Nani's face lit up, and she pulled out a small reddish shard pinched between her fingers.

"This might be of use," she said, standing. She jogged over to the door, traced her fingers over the handle for a moment, and slipped the shard into a crevice in a carved circle at the center of the door. "It slid right in. I think it was meant to go here. And look – the door's glowing just a little bit." A pause. "There's four more of these little slots."

"Reddish shards, you say?" Leliana asked, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a fistful of loot. She strode over to accompany Nani at the door. "I picked up some along the way. Let's see if it's enough."

Rogues, Finn thought. Their compulsive looting always came in handy at some point.

"Splendid," Dorian said, watching them deposit the shards in the door. "We're close to Alexius. I can feel it." When he glanced down at Finn, his eyes widened just a touch. "Sweet Maker, you look like you haven't slept in ten years."

"It's just the lighting," Finn tried. Truth be told, he _was_ exhausted. Before they'd found Cassandra, he and Bull had focused on drawing all of the attention off Nani and Dorian; that meant flashier attacks and quicker dodges. And it had taken them quite a while to find Cassandra. Even after she'd joined them, Finn had still gone overboard trying to draw Venatori towards him, and it was a great risk without any barrier to protect him.

He ached all over. His bones strained with every step. But he wouldn't let it stop him.

"Don't be silly," Dorian scolded. "Not to mention you're soaking wet and streaked with dirt. If I didn't know you, I'd think you were a homeless shrew looking for a nice, meaty child to steal and eat for dinner."

"Don't you know? All elves do that," Finn said, watching Leliana slip the last shard in.

Dorian laughed bemusedly, shaking his head. "Ah, yes. The classic 'elven savage' cliché. Finn, the only thing savage about you is all those tangles in your hair."

"Scary," Finn said. "Watch your back. They could attack you."

"Or I'll attack _them_ ," Dorian said. "With a _comb_."

Whether Dorian was actually bothered by Finn's dirty hair or whether he was simply trying to lighten the mood, Finn didn't know; either way, he was grateful for the distraction.

"It worked!" Nani announced, taking a step back so the door could open; it made an odd, magical whirring noise and receded into the floor.

Finn peered inside. It looked similar to the main hall he'd been in only hours prior, except the people were gone – no Felix, no Venatori guards, no Inquisition agents. The only person there, standing across the hall from them with his back turned, staring into the roaring fires of a hearth, was Magister Alexius.

 _"You."_ Nani ripped her bow from her back and strode purposefully into the room, nocking an arrow. Finn could hear the pure murder in her voice. He followed after her, only vaguely aware of Leliana, Dorian, Cassandra, and Bull behind him. "Does it amuse you, how long we've stumbled around in your house of horrors, trying to find a way out? Have you had your fun?"

Finn had misjudged. There was another person in the room; someone sitting on the floor with his head hung in misery, someone with Felix's close-cropped dark hair and Felix's robes. And when Alexius turned around, the magister's face was contorted with pure sorrow.

"I knew you would appear again, Herald," Alexius said. His voice was flat, defeated. "Not that it would be now. But I knew I hadn't destroyed you." His brows pulled together. "My…final failure."

Nani's snarl was positively feral. "Am I supposed to pity you?"

"Was it worth it, Alexius?" Dorian asked from Finn's side. "Everything you did to the world? To yourself?"

"It doesn't matter now." Alexius's shoulders slumped. The form on the floor that resembled Felix took a shuddering breath. "All we can do is wait for the end."

"Alexius, there doesn't _have_ to be an end," Finn tried, taking a step forward. "Dorian can reverse this. We can make everything right again. We can make this horrible future not even exist."

"You cannot reason with him," Leliana hissed.

She was right; Alexius seemed too wracked by guilt to even hear what Finn was saying. "All that I fought for," he said, shaking his head. "All that I betrayed… And what have I wrought? Ruin and death. There is nothing else." His voice strengthened just a touch. "The Elder One comes. For me. For you. For us all."

"Like I was saying – " Finn started.

"Enough," Leliana snapped. Her boots pounding on the stone, she reached Felix in a matter of seconds and hauled his immobile form to his feet, grabbing him in a chokehold and pressing a knife to his throat. Now that Finn could see Felix's face, he saw the ruin the illness had brought – unseeing eyes, ashen blue threading of veins popping out against his sallow, brittle skin. "Face what you've done, Alexius. To all of us. To _me_."

"Felix," Alexius choked, reaching for his son.

Dorian gasped next to Finn; it must've not registered for him that it was Felix on the floor, not until now. "That's _Felix?_ Maker's breath, Alexius, what have you done?"

"At least we're not the only ones who look like shit," Iron Bull grumbled from the back.

Tactful.

"He would have died, Dorian! I saved him! The Elder One saved him!" Alexius's eyes, Finn noticed, were nearly watering, filled with a tortured fear for his son. "Please, don't hurt him. I'll do anything you ask."

"Leliana, let him go," Finn urged. "That has to be good enough for us. We'll make it so this didn't happen."

Nani, though still in fighting stance, nodded. "I agree. Let's end this. I'm done with this future. Let's go _home_. We want the amulet, and he'll give it to us."

It must have been a pure, venomous desire for revenge that made Leliana ignore them and instead tear her dagger across Felix's throat, a tired "I want the world back" falling from her lips.

"No – " Finn gasped; he heard Dorian suck in a breath through clenched teeth.

Alexius's face twisted. From shock, to horror, to sadness, to rage. Then he yelled and lifted his staff high in the air, swinging it down in an arc and ripping the air around them with an earth-shattering explosion.

Finn barely had time to squint before the blast hit. In a split second Dorian, who probably knew Alexius's magical abilities like the back of his own hand, grabbed onto Finn; the explosion sent them both rolling together across the stone floor, Finn holding onto Dorian with a white-knuckled grip. Finn's back skidded on the floor as they tumbled to a stop, and he lay there, struggling to catch a breath, as Dorian leaned up on one arm and looked over at Alexius.

"There you are. Didn't break any bones," Dorian said, getting quickly to his feet. "Or so I'm hoping. Otherwise that was rather in vain, wasn't it?"

"Can't feel any breaks." Finn scrambled to his own feet, eternally grateful. Elven bones snapped much easier than human bones; if he'd gone flying across the hall with his limbs flailing in every direction, he likely would have shattered most of his body.

Speaking of… He searched quickly for Nani, finding her climbing off the heap that was Iron Bull. He must have buffered her. He groaned and got to his feet, and Finn saw Cassandra and Leliana doing the same.

No deaths. Yet.

Alexius immediately erected a wide bluish barrier around himself, and one of Leliana's arrows glanced uselessly off it. There was a tremendous tearing sound, and Finn looked up, watching a shimmering green scar form in the air above; before he could yell that Alexius had opened up a rift – and not the good kind, strange as that was to say – and the scar widened further and spat several demons onto the floor.

"Focus on the rift!" Nani yelled.

Finn didn't need to be told twice. He sent a whirling ice storm into the group of demons before any of the melee fighters could reach them; once Bull and Cassandra got to them, it became much more difficult. Finn had to focus carefully on each of their positions, since one stray bolt from him could end one of their lives.

"Ha!" Bull shattered one of the frozen demons with a hefty swing. "Take that, you piece of shit!"

Cassandra shield-bashed another demon and slashed her sword through it, disintegrating it into greenish ash.

Finn took a step back, his heart leaping into his throat when his leg felt that oozing molasses sensation again, just like the time he'd stepped in the circle at the wall. Except this time, it slowed _everyone_ down; he marveled at their slow motion attacks in the time it took for him to tear his leg away from the circle. Nani gave him a confused look but continued firing, arrow after arrow; Finn marveled how she never ran out of those.

"Last one!" Dorian called, and Finn heard a slight _boom_. "Do your thing, Nanyehi!"

Nani jumped up to the rift and lifted her hand, bracing herself and pulling with all her might; green light flooded into her scar and the rift popped, closing with a bright flash of light.

The barrier around Alexius fizzled out.

He deflected Nani's arrow with a swipe of magic, firing a firebolt her way; she leapt to the side, just barely avoiding its searing path through the hall. Cassandra and Bull overwhelmed him, pushing him back, strike after strike. Somehow the magister was able to resist most of these blows. Finn heard a pained yell rip from him, and then he exploded both of them away from him, and they tumbled across the floor.

Alexius lifted his hand, and green light shuddered in the air.

"No! Don't let him open another one!" Nani cried. "We'll be overwhelmed!"

Finn poured everything he could into his hands, into one crackling ball of shock, and sent it whirling the magister's way; it crashed into Alexius and crackled around him, and he screamed, his hand wavering where it held his staff. Dorian's fireball burned through the air around him, and Finn focused his hands, aiming another lightning ball.

Arrow after arrow, spell after spell, the magister was finally wearing down. _Rinse, lather, repeat_ , Finn thought bitterly. Then Bull charged him, leaping up in the air and swinging down with everything he had.

There was a cracking noise, and then silence. The forming rift disintegrated.

Finn doubled over, leaning his hands on his thighs and gasping for breath. Nani wiped sweat off her forehead and dropped her bow on the floor.

"Creators be damned," Nani hissed, pressing a hand against her side and watching Leliana put her own bow away. She pointed viciously at where Alexius's body lay on the cold stone floor. Her voice was weak and cracking, her face haggard with fatigue. "Leliana, we could have all died!"

"We _are_ dying," Leliana spat. "What's done is done."

Finn couldn't help but mourn Felix's fate, as he was sure Dorian was doing right now. He'd been innocent. He'd helped them all when he wasn't obligated to. He shouldn't have been butchered like an animal.

"He didn't deserve to die in such a manner," Dorian said from where he knelt at Alexius's body, shaking his head sadly in the direction of the dais, where Felix's corpse lay, his slit throat leaking crimson blood all over the stones. "But we can prevent this." He stood and held up a hand, Alexius's amulet dangling from his fingers. "The focus amulet, if you'll recall. I think it's the same one we made in Minrathous. That's a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I may be able to reopen the rift and send us back to the past."

"An hour?!" Leliana's petite body visibly tensed in outrage. "That's impossible! You must go now!"

The castle rumbled and quaked around them, bits of crumbled stone jarring loose from the ceiling and raining down like hail. Finn shielded his head, the piercing shrieks of demons nearly rendering him deaf. Somewhere outside, a dragon roared. He managed to hold himself upright during the violent shaking – as did the others, with varying degrees of effort. Cassandra grabbed Nanyehi's shoulder to steady herself.

"Shit," Finn said. "Shit, shit, _shit_. It's that demon army he raised. I'd bet anything on it."

"Or the Elder One," Leliana said. "If so…we're in his path."

"I'd say this isn't good, but I'm sure you know that," Bull said, looking in the direction of the noise. "If you can do that spell…you'll reverse this, right? Then do it. I'll hold the main door. Keep as many of those bastards from coming in as possible."

"I'm with you," Cassandra said, letting go of Nanyehi and going to Bull's side as the Qunari strode towards the door.

"You may need my arrows," Leliana said, just as the dragon's shrieking rumbled the castle walls a second time. Her eyes hardened. "I will join you outside. The three of us may buy some time."

"Are you _kidding?"_ Nani gasped. "That's suicide! You can't! If we all stay in here, maybe we'll – "

"Look at us!" Leliana swiveled to face Nani. "We're already dead! The only way we live is if this day never comes!" She turned a venomous glare on Dorian. "Cast your spell, Tevinter. The moment we fall, you'll have only seconds before the demons storm you. I suggest you hurry."

"I'll work as fast as I can," Dorian promised, grabbing Nani's elbow and dragging her up to the stone dais. She obliged, holding out her left palm so he could have her mark available, but her wide, concerned eyes were trained on Bull, Cassandra, and Leliana as the three of them slipped out of the double doors and closed them behind them.

Finn gripped his staff's smooth wooden shaft in white-knuckled hands. If the three of them fell too soon, the demons would get through the door. And then…

"I'll take second line of defense," he announced, jogging for the middle of the hall. Once there, he planted his feet. "It'll give you more time."

"Finn, _no_ ," Nani protested. "Come up here with us. _Please_."

Dorian clicked his tongue. "Hold still."

"Nani…" Finn looked over his shoulder. "Dorian needs as much time as he can get."

"You came through the rift with us! You time-traveled!" Her voice was high-pitched, frantic. "If you die here, your life won't get a reset button, Finn! They get a second chance out there, because they weren't with us, because they didn't travel, but we're the ones actually stepping through the rift, and you won't because you'll be _dead!"_

Dorian's voice sounded oddly broken. "She's right. As far as your body is concerned… It won't reset you like it will for them."

"There are worse ways to die than giving your life to protect your sister!" Finn argued, his voice bouncing off the walls.

Martyr complex, indeed.

By the sounds of yelling and guttural, demonic laughter outside, the army had advanced to the door. Finn heard the sounds of clashing steel, heard the _twang_ of Leliana's bow, heard Iron Bull's loud grunts with each swing. He spread his feet apart in a fighting stance, waiting for the worst.

Cassandra's scream came first. It was so full of agony that Finn's heart squeezed tight in his chest. Leliana's followed; her shriek was high-pitched, filled with burning and anguish, and Finn could no longer hear their weapons. They were down. He knew that much.

If Dorian couldn't complete the spell in time, they'd never bring Cassandra and Leliana back to life. Finn's gut twisted.

 _Hang in there, Bull_ , he prayed to whatever god might listen to him. _Hang in there!..._

Bull's grunts were coming louder and more often. Then the doors burst open, spraying Finn with shards of splintered wood, and a greenish terror demon dropped Bull's broken corpse on the floor with a loud thump. A horde of demons spilled into the room, all of their hungry eyes turning to Finn.

He knew he was all they had left now.

He pulled deep from his inner mana reserves and slammed his staff down, casting chain lightning into the mass of demons and watching the electricity crackle and whip through their forms. A few went down; not enough.

"That's for Bull!" he yelled, sending a bolt of ice ripping through the masses. It shredded through some, but more came, pouring through the door like ants on the trail of a dropped crumb. "This is for Cassandra!" He raised both hands out in front of him, sending an ice wind spiraling away from him. It froze a couple; the demons at the head were about to reach him. "And this is for Leliana!" With that he swiped his staff down in an arc, shooting ice shards out of the ground.

The shards took out that wave of demons, but a shade caught up to him within no time, raising its arms to strike; Finn knocked the butt of his staff into its flimsy body, dissolving it. A terror reached for him; he spun out of the way and fired an ice bolt through its head.

His world dissolved into an endless repeat of twisting away from an attack, firing, sucking in deep, ragged breaths to try and replenish his mana. It dwindled low after a few minutes of this, and he gritted his teeth, unleashing another bout of chain lightning.

The next time he tried to draw on his mana, he realized it was gone.

He was panting heavily now, each arc of his staff and move of his legs sending fresh pain through his body. His lungs ached. He tried again, lifting a palm, but a measly amount of lightning crackled around his hand.

His only regret was that he'd never learned a barrier spell, and thus couldn't attempt any _dirth'ena enasalin_ techniques on the tide of demons.

One of them swiped for him, dragging a claw across his neck; he hissed in pain as hot blood bubbled up from the cut and ran down his collarbone. No time to hesitate – he dodged another blow, swinging his staff like a two-handed sword.

But he'd dodged right into the waiting arms of a terror demon.

He didn't have time or strength to jump away; the demon ripped into him, plunging a talon through his abdomen.

Finn choked, his world coming to a standstill.

Everything spun, a miasmic slew of green and grey and demonic eyes and leathery hide. He could only register immense pain as the talon dragged out of him and he stumbled, wide-eyed, blood leaking out of his mouth.

 _"Finn!"_ he barely heard Nanyehi shriek. _"Finn! No!"_

He tried to smile, tried to reassure her it was going to be all right, but his body betrayed him and fell to the floor.

Groaning, he lifted his head, his warped vision sharpening just enough for him to know that the horde of demons was heading for Nani and Dorian. He could see them now, the faintest sliver of a green rift in between them, Nani's eyes wide and horrified, tears leaking down her cheeks.

He dragged his hand in front of him, struggling for a breath. His vision was whitening around the edges.

The demons were about to reach them.

A pained noise rattled up from his throat as he held out his palm, twisting it into a fist. Frost began to claw at the demons' feet, slowing them down.

 _Let it be enough_ , Finn prayed.

His eyes fluttered shut. Hot air washed over him.

_Let it be enough._

* * *

Finn could still hear Nani screaming, but he couldn't open his eyes to see her.

"You killed my brother, Alexius!" he heard her shriek. " _Bastard!_ Fen'Harel take you! I'll tear you apart myself! _I'll kill you!"_

The hard stone floor was cold beneath him, slick and sticky with his own blood; he slumped his head to the floor, inhaling the smells of dust and rock.

"Hold – he's not dead!" he heard Dorian say. Then there was a pounding of boots, and warm hands gripped him, gently rolling him over. Two fingers pressed to the pulse point of his throat. "He lives, Nanyehi!"

Finn tried to open his mouth, but ended up moaning in pain through his clenched teeth; his brows screwed together.

"It's all right, Finn," Dorian was saying, the urgency in his voice betraying his attempted reassurances. One hand stroked the tangled hair away from Finn's forehead. The other, shortly after, pressed down on the wound in Finn's gut to try and stopper the bleeding, making him stifle a scream. "It's all right. I'm here. I've got you."

"Can he be saved?" Felix's voice; another thumping of boots.

"We're going to bloody well try," Dorian snarled. A moment later Finn felt two strong arms curve under him, lifting him.

"Finnie?" There was Nani's voice, and a dainty, shaking hand stroking his cheek. "I'm so sorry, I'm _so_ – "

"N…no," Finn groaned. "Don't…"

"Let's go," Dorian said. Finn briefly felt the rocking motion of his walk. "Felix, grab his staff, would you? He adores that thing."

There was the sound of wood dragging against stone.

"I'm coming with you." Nani's voice. "Cassandra can handle the – "

"Nani, s-she…" Finn choked out. "Don't…conscript…"

_Don't conscript the mages. Don't take away their free will. They're innocent. We won't be any better than our enemies. Please…_

"Finn, don't try to talk," Dorian urged. "Felix, let's go. I know of an enchanter hiding out in Redcliffe who specializes in healing arts. If we can reach her in time, she might be able to save Finn's life. I know for a fact Alexius doesn't know a healing spell, nor would I count on him to use it. Nanyehi… I think Finn wants you to stay here and take care of the mages."

"I…" Nani started. A quick, breathy pause. "All right. _All right_. I'll take care of things on this end. But, please... _save him_..."

From the feel of it, Dorian carried Finn to the double doors and out of them, and all voices faded away.

He lost consciousness on the way back to Redcliffe Village. All he knew was the solid warmth of Dorian's arms under him, the rocking of his walk, the swell of his lungs as he breathed, the occasional mutter of "hold on, Finn. I've got you." Then there was the pungent smell of wet grass, the sounds of villagers talking, the creaking of wood and stomping of sheep's hooves.

"Up there, Dorian," came Felix's voice. "Are your arms getting tired?"

"Not enough," Dorian said.

A moment later Finn felt himself being lowered, then resting on his back on something cushioned – a cot?

"This is grave," a woman's voice muttered. Cooling hands were on his stomach, pulling away armor. "What in the world – "

"Please, don't ask me that," Dorian said.

Healing rushed through Finn like a tidal wave, and the feel of it intoxicated him, made his eyes roll back into his head; he opened his mouth, sucked in a shuddering breath, and passed out.


	16. Make Whole the Broken Man

Finn drifted in and out of delirium as he lay there in the care of the enchanter. His fever spiked and waned and spiked once more, his skin clammy one moment and burning from within the next. The pain in his gut was a dull, throbbing ache now, much improved from the excruciating agony of the stab wound. A few times he was vaguely aware of someone lifting him to a sitting position, and a slender, blonde elven woman dumping thick juice down his throat that tasted slightly like mint. Elfroot, he knew somehow.

The combination of the healer's hands and the elfroot juice left him high as a cloud for what felt like years but was probably only a day or so. Sometimes he heard voices around him; rarely was he coherent enough to recognize them.

Until one afternoon, when his fever finally broke.

He groaned and threw a hand over his forehead, opening his eyes. His hand, he noticed all too late, was sticky with sweat. He was in a small, one-room wooden hut, lying on a ragged bed against the wall. Golden sunlight dappled through the thatch in the roof. His rosewood staff was propped against the wall near his bed, wiped clean of blood and demonic ash. When he looked down at himself, he realized his upper half had been stripped of all armor, and his middle was now wrapped heavily in clean white gauze.

Finn jammed a hand down on the mattress and made himself sit up.

Aside from the residual fatigue, he actually felt pretty damn good. No ripping, tearing pain, no giant hole in his stomach. No screaming. Today felt like it would be a good day.

"I see you've returned to the land of the living," Dorian commented. Finn looked over to see Dorian sitting in a wooden chair with his elbows propped casually on the armrests. "Did you have fun chasing the rainbow unicorns up in the sky?"

"Hilarious," Finn said, shaking his head. When he let slip a soft laugh, it hurt his stomach a little. "Where are… Are we still in Redcliffe?"

Dorian nodded, standing. "We are. You've been tirelessly worked on by Enchanter Ellendra and Redcliffe's local herbalist for the past couple of days now. I've been on Finn-watch this afternoon, and I suppose I should alert the others that you've woken…" He took a step towards the door.

"Wait!" Finn held out a hand. "I need a minute to catch my breath before I get mobbed."

"Ah. Fair point." Dorian hesitated a moment, then dragged the wooden chair closer to the bed and sat down in it. He ran a hand through his pitch black hair, somehow not messing it up in the slightest; Finn wondered idly if he'd styled his hair with blood magic. "How's the pain? Better, yes?"

"Better." Finn rested his free hand over the thick gauze wrapped around his stomach. "Creators' tits. That was a lot of demons. Is everyone else all right?"

Dorian chuckled. "Sweet Maker, they're _fine_ , and they certainly wouldn't want your incessant worrying. In fact, they're all waiting here in Redcliffe for you to recover. But enough of that. How are you feeling?"

"…pretty good?" Finn said.

The only thing that got out of Dorian was a raised brow. "Pretty good, you say. Either you're still drugged up on healing magic, or I've actually found one of those rare, elusive optimists."

Finn shrugged. "Might be both."

Something occurred to him, even though Dorian hadn't come out and said it – where would he go now? He'd helped the Inquisition secure the mages from the Venatori. His self-imposed duty was done. Very likely…he'd return home to Tevinter.

The thought didn't do much to ease the tension in Finn's belly, but he had to consider it a possibility – after all, Dorian _had_ followed through on his promise. Now that their ordeal was over…Finn didn't know why the Tevinter mage would stay and help a foreign Inquisition.

"Will you be returning to Tevinter?" he asked.

"Already eager to get rid of me?" Dorian's mouth tweaked in a wry half-smile. "No, I think I'll stay. Rugged and uncivilized as it is, the South is beginning to grow on me. Besides – _someone_ needs to stick around to prevent you from throwing yourself gleefully to your own doom."

Ah. Finn tried not to grin too enthusiastically at that.

"Not many men would do what you did, you know," Dorian continued. His grey eyes were intense. "You stood your ground in the face of dozens of demons. And don't think I missed that you were _still_ trying to cast spells even with a gaping wound in you."

"Maybe I'm just abominably stupid," Finn tried, shrugging one shoulder.

Dorian broke into laughter. "I think a compelling case could be made for that. Regardless – you really _are_ something. You know that, don't you?"

Whew, was it getting hot in here? Finn pushed his tangled white hair back with a hand, trying to shove it off his forehead.

"You're something too," he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Creators' arses, he thought immediately, his face burning. _Brilliant. That was brilliant_. _I have the worst conversation skills possible_. Not to mention, considering that was probably his sorry attempt at flirting…well, maybe he should promise himself to never flirt again as long as he lived.

"Ha! Look at us, a couple of somethings," Dorian said with a smile. Then both men looked up with a start as the door creaked open.

An elven woman slipped inside, wearing a simple white and brown dress with a high collar, her golden blonde hair done up in a high knot at the back of her head. She had several bottles cradled in her arms, and she nudged the door shut with her hip, setting the bottles down on the chest by the door. She seemed to finally notice Finn when she looked up; she gave an excited yelp and hurried over to him, pressing her hand to his forehead.

"Your fever's broken," she said, smiling. "I wasn't sure you'd pull through, but you did. You were only minutes away from bleeding out and dying when Enchanter Ellendra got to you, I'd wager. What an awful wound." She took a step back. "You don't have a clue who I am, do you? I'm Mirrin. I study herbs and mix potions here in Redcliffe. And I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

"It's nice to actually meet you, Mirrin," Finn greeted. "Thank you. Really."

"Of course, of course." She grabbed a bottle off the chest and handed it to him. "Here. Some elfroot juice – it'll speed up the healing. Your associates are outside…should I let them know you're awake?"

"No," Finn said, popping the cork off the bottle. "I'll tell them myself in a minute. I'm trying to catch my bearings."

"As you say." Mirrin gave a slight bow and left, shutting the door behind her.

Finn brought the bottle to his lips, tipping it up and downing the minty elfroot juice like he was in an ale-chugging contest.

"I should thank you for getting me here as quickly as you did," he told Dorian when he'd finished the last drops of the potion. It chilled his throat all the way down. "I'm sure I would've died if it hadn't been for you. You saved my life. I won't forget that."

" _You_ saved _all_ of our lives, you modest twit," Dorian replied. His eyes briefly flickered down to Finn's bare chest, and Finn swallowed hard. "As much as I despise arbitrary non sequiturs, I must ask – what _are_ those tattoos for? A fashion statement? A shameless declaration of masculinity? I know you Dalish have them on your faces, but you've got them all over you."

Yes, indeed; Finn's blue _vallaslin_ wasn't just on his face. That must've been why Dorian looked down.

"If you must know," Finn said, "they're called _vallaslin_. It translates to blood-writing. It's to honor our gods."

"And which god do those ones honor?" Dorian asked.

 _The god of being a flustered idiot_ , Finn wanted to say; it would've been appropriate, on him at least. Instead he said, "June. Our craftmaster. He taught us to hunt and make weapons, and saved our people from the elements. I thought he was the coolest thing since buttered bread when I was little. Well… I guess I've always thought all the gods were the coolest thing. Maybe it's why I've spent so much time studying lore."

"One would think you'd worship the god of violent martyrdom, if there is one." Dorian's eyes traced the trailing path of blue _vallaslin_ down Finn's left arm. "You mentioned being given them before. They're rather…striking."

Finn opened his mouth, probably to spit out something horrendously dumb that would embarrass him even more than the sleep-cuddling incident, when the door opened again.

This time it was a woman with a tall, proud bearing, dressed in blue enchanter's robes with her brown hair in a low knot; unlike Mirrin, she noticed Finn was awake immediately. "Ah, good," she said, reaching him and pressing two fingers to the throbbing pulse point under his jaw; he felt a small, soothing burst of healing drain into his bloodstream. "I think you're ready to be weaned off my magic. You'll need to take it easy for the next few days – I've knitted up the wound as best I can, but it's still going to be sensitive. If you move about too much, you might tear it." She gave a half smile. "Feels good to be able to think straight again, doesn't it? I've been told being flooded with healing magic is a great deal like a drunken stupor."

"I didn't take too much of your mana, did I?" Finn asked.

The woman – Ellendra, he assumed – didn't look like she was going to mince words with him. "You were dying. When you were brought here, I used everything I had." She brushed a wisp of brown hair behind her ear. "Truth be told, I'm exhausted, but a life saved is always worth that."

She was a bit like him, Finn mused quietly; he'd thought much of the same thing when he'd stood in front of the approaching horde of demons.

He absentmindedly ran his hand over the rough fabric of the bedspread beneath him. "Is there anything I can do to repay you?"

"Just try not to come back in here with another stab wound, lad. That'll be enough." She thought for a moment, her forehead crinkling in concentration. "Then again, if in your travels you should come across – no. Never you mind." Silently she turned around and left the hut, the door thudding shut behind her.

He wondered what that was about.

Finn glanced briefly at Dorian, then looked around the hut, searching for something to wear. Sure, he still had his breeches on – thank goodness for that – but he didn't feel like tromping around the Hinterlands with his upper half exposed to the elements as it was. He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, unsuccessful even when his eyes made several cursory sweeps around the room.

"Something disappointing you?" Dorian asked. "You've got quite the impressive glower on your face."

"I can't find my tunic," Finn said, frowning. "Do you happen to know where they put it?"

Dorian wordlessly reached down into a small wooden bin next to him and pulled out Finn's under-armor tunic, which someone had kindly washed clean of its gruesome bloodstains, and tossed it to him. "Here you are. Mirrin was keeping your things safe in here while you were…indisposed." He gave Finn a grin, a mischievous flash in his eyes. "I wonder, is it too late to hide your tunic and force you to walk about shirtless?"

Finn thought steam might start to pour out of his ears from all the pent up heat in his head. He cleared his throat, blinked, came up empty in the witty-retort department, and slipped the tunic back on. It smelled vaguely of lavender soap.

"I'm going to go with _yeah, it's too late_ ," he said after a moment, laughing to himself.

Dorian laughed in return, shaking his head in obvious amusement. _He's probably teasing me to get a reaction out of me_ , Finn thought. Creators knew Finn had teased Nani for that very reason a thousand times; big brothers had certain obligations to fulfill.

"Well. Up you go." Dorian stood, holding out a hand to help Finn stand as well. "I believe your devoted fans are waiting to see you."

Finn smiled, taking his hand. "You mean my sister."

Dorian chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure you have more fans than that."

* * *

Nanyehi sat cross-legged in the grass outside of Mirrin's hut, a chunk of dried ram meat cupped in her hands. She really should've tried to eat it, but she'd been so worried sick about Finn that the thought of food made her queasy.

She'd seen him come close to death once before, when he'd been mauled by that bear a year ago. She'd prayed to the gods that she'd never have to see something so horrifying again. And yet here she was, the images of her older brother gored on a demon's talon permanently seared to the backs of her eyelids. Her nervousness had gotten so bad that Dorian had physically steered her out of the hut, because she'd kept fidgeting and trying to smooth Finn's hair and it was interrupting his rest.

Poor thing. His desire to protect everyone – especially her – verged on suicidal.

Cassandra sat down next to her, resting her hands on her knees. The warmaiden was silent for a while; when she spoke, her tone was sober.

"I received a message by bird from Leliana," Cassandra said. "She and the mages have safely reached Haven. Although I… _disagree_ with leaving them as free allies, I respect your decision to do so."

It hadn't been Nanyehi's first choice, to do that. And yet Finn, so close to death, had still begged her not to conscript the mages. It would've broken her heart to stomp on her brother's last wishes like that. And maybe he was right – maybe the mages would fight harder for the Inquisition, because they wouldn't be forced to.

"Did I make the right decision?" Nani asked, watching the tree branches shift and shudder in the wind.

"You made a quick decision when you had to, and I believe you did well," Cassandra encouraged her. "Especially given the circumstances. I would have killed Alexius out of rage before anyone could stop me."

Nani smiled wryly. "I almost did." At that last moment, it had been Dorian's announcement of Finn's survival that had stopped her from ripping out the magister's throat. But the man was in Inquisition custody now, and Finn was still alive. Thank the gods for that.

Cassandra sighed. "I had an older brother, much like you. Anthony. And when he died, I… I did not let go of my desire for vengeance for years." Her brows pulled together. "I want you to know that I understand your pain. And I'm grateful as well that Finn is alive."

"Me too," Nani said. "I'm sorry about your brother. I didn't know."

If Cassandra had been about to speak, she was interrupted by the door opening; Nani looked up to see Finn step outside, holding a hand up to shield his glacial blue eyes from the sunlight.

"Finn!" Overcome with emotion at seeing him walking, Nani leapt up from her spot, dropping the dried meat on the ground in the process; she charged over to Finn and squeezed her arms around his neck, stopping only when he made a light coughing noise.

"Look at me," he said, squeezing his eyes shut and tolerating her pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. "Walking and everything."

"Are you all right?" she asked, stroking his hair back. "How are you feeling? Does it hurt? Do you need anything? Water?"

"Whoa, whoa." Finn held his hands up in surrender. "One at a time, Nani. I'm _fine_."

"Or so he claims," Dorian said, stepping out of the hut. "I'll bet anything that a few miles out from Redcliffe, he's going to keel over and faint and we'll have to drag him back to Haven by his feet."

"Such faith you have in me," Finn said wryly. "Where's Bull?"

"Taking out his anger on the Hinterlands wildlife," Cassandra answered. "He does not remember the ordeal any more than I do, but the mention of a demon horde and the sudden wound in your abdomen was enough to get him stomping out of here in a huff. He'll be back soon."

"Then we can go _home_ ," Nanyehi said.

More than anything, she wanted to return to Haven, stuff her brother in a locker, and keep him safe from anything else that ever wanted to hurt him. Not that he'd comply. Finn was infuriatingly tenacious in that regard.

"Home." Finn smiled. "Yeah. That'd be nice."

Dorian thumped Finn's shoulder. "You should really try _not_ to die on the way back. Knowing you, though, that could be a challenge."

"Oh, stuff it," Finn said. "You just watch. I'm going to be _extra_ alive once we reach Haven, just to prove you wrong."

Nani caught Dorian's glance, and he gave her a sly sort of smile.

Absolutely brilliant. If challenging Finn made him a little less reckless with his health, then Nani had Dorian to thank. Yet again. She smiled, folding her arms over her chest.

Maybe it wouldn't last very long, but for one moment…everything felt _perfect_.


	17. So Burns the Memory

When the party had finally arrived back at Haven, Finn had just managed to walk tiredly to the tavern, find a table at the back corner, lean against the wall, and order a tall flagon of mead before the interrogations began.

It started with Varric, because so many things _did_.

"Frosty!" Varric greeted, sauntering over to the table and plopping down on the bench opposite Finn. Finn scrubbed his eyes with his fists, as if that would alleviate the fatigue, and watched the dwarf flag the waitress down and order an ale. Then Varric rested one elbow on the table and stared Finn down. "So. Just so I get the details right when I write this chapter…did you really _singlehandedly_ stand in front of a tidal wave of demons and kick complete ass? Even if you didn't, it's probably what's going in the book. So you're aware."

Finn took a slow, long pull of mead. Then he set the mug down with a resounding thud. "It wasn't just me. Cassandra, Leliana and Bull softened the blow." He chuckled. "Sorry if I've just ruined the book you're writing at my expense."

"Yeah…that detail's not going to make the cut." Varric's ale arrived, but he didn't drink it right away. "From now on, it was two hundred demons and you died a hero."

Finn raised one eyebrow. "Oh? Now I'm dead in your book?"

"Well, sure, but you'll come back miraculously to save the day in some future chapter," Varric said. "I've got it all planned." He surveyed the contents of his flagon. "This ale is probably not gross enough for that bet you and Sparkler have got going. I need to find better."

"That's Dorian's new name?" Finn said with a laugh.

"Can _you_ think of a more appropriate one?" Varric challenged. "All fun and games aside… How're you holding up? Most people don't take a demon talon through the gut and live."

"I'm fine," Finn said, shrugging one shoulder. "Not a big deal. It was worth it."

Varric snapped his fingers. " _That's_ going in the book."

Finn rested one elbow on the table and propped his chin on his hand. "So is my dead self going to say that? Or is that going to be my stoic, debonair line when I come back from the dead a few chapters later?"

Varric laughed, _tsk_ ing his tongue. "You know I can't reveal everything, Frosty. Trade secrets and all."

"…but I'm _in_ the book."

"Doesn't matter."

Finn opened his mouth to say something, decided on taking a sip of mead instead, and nearly spat it out when someone cuffed the back of his head with their bare hand.

" _Demons_ , Finnie?" Sera chided, sounding completely and utterly miffed. "Who hears an arseload of demons kicking down the door and says 'well, dunk a butt, I think I'll stand in their way and give 'em all frigging HUGS as they come in'?" She sank unceremoniously in the seat next to Varric and glowered at Finn from across the table. "You right crazy tit."

"Concerned?" Finn teased.

"I'll give you something to be concerned about," she said, pounding her fist against her palm. "Mages. I knew this shit would blow up. Never trust a mage. Twats."

"I'm sitting right here," Finn said. "Still. Haven't moved."

But Sera didn't appear to be convincible; she was shaking her head sporadically as she rose from the table, muttered "twats" again, and walked away.

"…so there's that," Finn said, drinking the remainder of his mead in one go. He turned the flagon around in his hands, absently watching the dingy tavern light glance off its scraped-up metal surface, then let it drop to the table. It wobbled a bit before settling upright. "It looks like I've officially been inducted into the Hall of Twats, Varric."

Varric snickered. "What an honor." He chugged his ale in one long gulp, then slammed the flagon down. "I'll leave you be. Just wanted to make sure you were all right. I think I'll check on your sister, actually. Do you know where she might be?"

"Nani likes to be high up when she's thinking," Finn said. "I'd, uh…check the rooftops. And trees. Check those."

"This is going to take forever," Varric said, shaking his head, getting up from his seat, and leaving the tavern.

Finn let the bar's ambient chatter, the minstrel's fingers plucking at the lute, and the pervasive smell of ale lull him into a quiet stupor. He crossed his arms on the table and rested his head in them, closing his eyes. It was nice to sit and rest for a minute, at least until his need to chatter like a hyperactive squirrel kicked in and he'd be forced to seek out someone patient and willing to listen.

He, of course, nearly choked on his own saliva when the table quaked and the bench beneath him lifted a couple inches off the floor and Iron Bull's gruff, baritone voice said "hey, Finn."

Raising his head with a startled sputter, Finn watched Iron Bull look down at the bench he was sitting on, directly where Varric had just been, and frown. "Damn, these are flimsy," the Qunari commented, standing back up with a huff. "You might need to weight down your side of the table with sandbags or something."

"Duly noted," Finn said, recovering his dignity. "How've you been?"

"That demon business in Redcliffe…what a mess," Bull said, leaning one foot on the bench instead of sitting on it. "I'm glad I don't remember any of it. How's that wound?"

"Healed up," Finn said proudly.

"You're awfully chipper for someone who's just been stabbed." Iron Bull peered down at Finn with his one good eye, which Finn noticed was a sort of grayish green color – an unexpectedly striking shade, for a man who more closely resembled a muscled druffalo than anyone Finn had ever seen. His gaze was strangely keen, too; he seemed to see more than he let on. " _A-ha_. You _like_ having a martyr complex. You'd rather be injured than worrying about someone else. I've got you pegged."

"I…huh," Finn said. Maybe so; he hadn't thought about the reasoning behind his optimism. "That was rather astute of you."

"Ben-Hassrath training, remember?" Bull said.

Right. He _had_ mentioned his station in the Ben-Hassrath on their way to Redcliffe. It didn't seem like it would end up being an issue; he'd keep them informed on Qunari affairs, at the very least, so it seemed a fair bargain.

"I can read anyone like they're speaking out loud," Bull informed him, leaning down a little – probably to get a better look at Finn. "And right now, you're silently telling me you haven't gotten your cork popped in way too long."

"I _what?"_ Finn blurted out.

"You heard me." Bull looked triumphant. "That's not what you're saying out loud, but it's what you're _telling_ me. I know how it is." He crossed his massive, muscled arms over his bare chest. "You're pretty cute. Not a redhead, but life isn't perfect. You ever want to ride the Bull, well…you know where to find me."

Finn's jaw nearly detached from his face and hit the floor. Bull just gave him a grin and a salute, leaving the tavern.

They really _did_ keep interesting company, didn't they? Finn stared at the table's knotted surface, his brain working overtime to try and comprehend what had just happened. He briefly considered it, then wondered if his smaller build would even survive such an encounter. Getting stabbed by a demon was one thing…getting stabbed in a _very different manner_ by a giant Qunari was another thing entirely.

He dropped his forehead against the table's surface and sighed.

This time, he heard the approaching footsteps before they reached up.

"Chin up, Finn," Dorian said, giving him a heavy thump on the back. "The tavern food can't be so depressing that you've resigned yourself to eating the table instead."

" _Hmmm-mfff-nnnnhh_ ," Finn said into the table, not lifting his head.

"What was that? I don't speak 'gibberish'. Never got around to learning it."

"I wasn't eating the table," Finn said, finally lifting his head. He dragged his hands through his snowy hair multiple times to hopefully get it into a state of non-shittiness. "Of _course_ I wasn't eating the table. Why did I feel the need to clarify that? Who actually eats tables? I'm rambling. Sorry. Shut me up."

"I was under the impression that 'shutting up' is not your preferred state of existence," Dorian said, raising an eyebrow. "Not that there's an issue with that."

Finn's brain immediately made their current situation unspeakably dirty in a two-second daydream he was not going to share out loud, and he clammed up for a few seconds, shaking his head. Fuck it – he was going to rescind his promise to himself and shamelessly flirt with Dorian, no matter the consequences.

"Oh, I don't know," Finn said, holding Dorian's gaze. "Sometimes I don't mind being…silenced."

Dorian quirked a half smile. "And in what fashion would you like to be silenced, then?"

Shit. He'd essentially called Finn's bluff. Finn pursed his lips, rolled his eyes around in thought, and eventually chickened out and said, "drop-kick me off a cliff."

"How would that silence you? I'd hear screaming all the way down. Not my idea of a peaceful afternoon." Dorian slid onto the bench next to Finn and leaned an arm on the table, watching him. "What in the world is wrong with you?"

"Uh…" Finn swallowed. "You're going to need to be more specific."

"Your eyes," Dorian said. "They're as big as those plates over there. You look like you've seen the ghost of your dead ancestor and it wasn't wearing any trousers."

"Oh. That." Finn shrugged, staring across the tavern at nothing in particular. May as well spill the beans; he really had nothing to lose here. "According to Varric, I died heroically while fighting the demons and am about to rise from the dead in a few chapters. Sera thinks I'm a twat. And I now have an all access invitation to –" _Wait_. What if Dorian found Finn's inclinations distasteful? "– to, uh, do nothing. Nothing happened. At all. Yeah. Good afternoon."

And with that, he dropped his forehead back on the table.

"Nothing," Dorian repeated. He didn't sound convinced – obviously. "Did the varnish on the table scramble your brain?"

"No, because I'm _not eating it_ ," Finn said, raising his head once more; he caught a lopsided grin on Dorian's face and realized the fellow mage was teasing him, yet again. "Actually, by extension, Sera also thinks _you're_ a twat. All mages are, apparently. Welcome to the prestigious Hall of Twats."

"I can't say I'm not used to that," Dorian said. "Your countrymen aren't very well-versed in the idea of giving a warm welcome, dare I say. Your blacksmith spat at my feet a few minutes ago. And I've been getting the most curious stares. Like everyone is collectively daydreaming of locking me in a chest and sinking it to the bottom of the ocean. Rather unnerving."

"Yeah, well, they're arseholes." Finn shrugged. "Nani and I have been called knife-ears more times than I can count. It's better around here, at least. For what it's worth, I'm sorry about it." He chuckled. "I've actually made a bit of a game out of it. I try to rank their insults from most creative to most contrived. I think the best I've heard recently was _you scrawny little son of a deer-humping-shit_. Perfect ten right there. I'd say _dirty-halla-fucker_ is a runner up."

"Good grief." Dorian laughed out loud. "Where was this?"

"Val Royeaux," Finn said. "Both of them."

"Why am I not surprised?" Dorian said.

A second later, Finn noticed a curious sight – Solas, pinching his nose shut and looking disgusted with life in general, stepped into the tavern. The fellow elven mage looked more out of place here than a hairy druffalo in Val Royeaux. He spotted Finn, his walk smooth-strided and rushed as he reached the table, and said, "ah, Finirial. There you are. May I have a moment?"

"You can have as many as you want, _lethallin_." Finn pressed a hand down on the table to help himself stand. "Something you needed?"

"Yes," Solas said, glancing out the door, "but I'd prefer if we spoke somewhere other than this."

" _Ma nuvenin_ ," Finn said, offering Dorian a parting smile before he followed Solas out of the tavern.

Solas led him up the snowy bank to a vacant spot outside one of the small wooden homes in Haven, stopping and turning to Finn. "Ah. I can breathe again." He regarded Finn with a calm look. "I'm told you could have prevented a nearly fatal injury at Redcliffe if you'd known a barrier spell and thus had been able to use _dirth'ena enasalin_. As such, I offer you this – I will teach you the spell necessary to cast a barrier. Perhaps if you know it, it will make your impending battlemage training all the more easy."

"You would do that for me?" Finn found himself grinning. "So…what can I do for you in return?"

"All I ask is that you clear your mind and learn what I have to teach, 'ma falon," Solas said. "You have been an unexpected friend, to many of us, and I do not wish to see you die."

Finn took a deep breath to show Solas he was doing just that – clearing his mind – and expelled it forcefully. "I'm ready to learn. Teach me what you know."

Solas smiled.

* * *

Cullen's search for Nanyehi took him halfway around Haven before he spotted her sitting cross-legged against a tree trunk on the outskirts of the training grounds, her legs already half-covered in snow. Varric was just leaving her, it seemed; he looked up at Cullen as the two neared each other and said, "I got her down from there. You're welcome."

"From the tree?" Cullen asked, even though he basically knew the answer to that.

"From the tree, Curly," Varric said, striding past him and away.

Cullen approached Nanyehi carefully, not wanting to startle her. Sometimes the young Dalish woman appeared to be like a nervous deer, unsure of her surroundings and stepping with the most careful of treads. And yet in battle, he knew she was more wildcat than deer – snarling, ferocious, her arrows flying faster than he'd ever seen anyone shoot.

"Have the mages settled in?" she asked him when he reached her, not looking up. She appeared to be deep in thought.

"Well enough," Cullen answered truthfully. "There's been some minor squabbles, but nothing we can't handle. Either way – what are you doing out here? Isn't it too cold for you?"

She shook her head, her aquamarine eyes wide and glazed, and simply said, "I watched my brother die."

Ah. So there was the reason for her melancholy look. Deciding to be spontaneous, Cullen sat down in the snow next to her, marveling at the delicate slenderness of her hands as she pushed a strand of dark red hair behind one ear.

"Or I thought I did," she said. "It didn't matter, in that moment. I had to stand there, useless, indisposed, as Finn faced down a horde of demons and took a talon through the gut. All to protect me. No one should ever have to see that. And I know he's probably laughing it off, making martyr jokes, and while I'm really happy he can recover so quickly… I can't get that damn image out of my head." She shook her head violently, as if to clear it. "For some reason, it hit me really hard on the way home, after the happiness of seeing him walking wore off. It's...hard. But I'm sorry. I'm burdening you."

"No. You're not." Cullen felt an urge to reach out and touch her, to comfort her in some manner, but he wasn't certain his touch would offer her any form of comfort. She was a tricky one, Nanyehi; she wasn't easy to get along with like Finn was. And yet Cullen found himself not minding that at all, because she made no excuses for who she was, and there was a strength in that. There was a strength in the flashing fire in her eyes, in her lithe body and quick hands. "Maker's breath, I can't even imagine what I would do if I'd seen such a thing. You have a right to be feeling this way."

"I suppose." Her thin shoulders slumped as she sighed.

"At least he's all right," Cullen said, searching for the right thing to say.

She smiled, then, and it was a beautiful smile; a sparkle touched the crystalline greenish blue of her eyes, and they brightened, her cheeks dimpling. "He is, isn't he? I can be thankful for that."

Cullen tried not to stare.

"Where would I be without him?" she continued. "I probably would've run away from the Inquisition as soon as I could. Maybe I wouldn't have helped at all." She bit down on her bottom lip for just a moment. "I'm not good at this. This _making friends_ thing. This _saving the world_ thing. But I want to be."

There was a touch of insecure desperation in her voice that Cullen knew well, because it had been him once. When he'd fumbled for the right words around Ellairia Surana back in their days in Kinloch Hold, when he'd glommed on to any figurehead he could find out of a longing to be led and be accepted. And here Nanyehi was, saying she wasn't sure if anyone could appreciate her for _her_.

"It gets easier," he promised. "People already value you. That much I know."

Her smile this time was soft, and it was the gentlest he'd ever seen her face. She so often had worry-wrinkles between her eyebrows and hard lines around her eyes.

He knew the minds of the folks here at Haven, and he hadn't lied to her. Yes, she had the mark – that was one thing, and an important one at that. But she'd stood bravely in the face of hell multiple times and made the decisions no one else was willing to, and it took a special kind of strength to do that.

"I hope you're right," she eventually said.

He knew one other thing…that Maker be damned, everything be damned, Nanyehi Lavellan was growing on him.


	18. Strength of the Many

A week had passed by the time Nani declared she was ready to close the Breach.

Frigid mountain air whipped through the remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, blowing away the last of the early morning mist. Finn felt the chill seeping through his armored robes, stinging his eyes, tumbling his hair into what was surely utter disarray.

It was exhilarating in its own way, standing in the ruined temple hall beneath the fizzling, shifting green spire that was the Breach, one mage amongst a hundred strong. Finn gripped his rosewood staff tight, enjoying the crisp feel of the cold, the raw thrum of mana pulsing through his veins. He remained with the main body of the mages as they filed into an orderly fashion below the Breach, watching Nanyehi, Cassandra, and Solas step up a little closer to it.

Nani looked up at the Breach, but her back was to Finn and he couldn't see her face. He could read the tightness of her narrow shoulders, though.

"You are certain you're ready?" Finn heard Cassandra ask her. "We can't predict how this will affect you."

 _Well, I'll be damned_ , Finn thought. Cassandra actually looked _concerned_. They'd certainly come a long way from day one, hadn't they?

"Does it matter?" Nani answered. "Either way, this damn thing goes down."

Even from where he stood, Finn could tell that she'd said this through gritted teeth.

Solas held his staff high and approached the mages, his blue eyes intense. "Mages!" he called, getting their attention; any whispering and idle conversation stopped. "This will not be easy! The Herald will need all of your power! Focus on her; pour everything you have into her hand!"

Nani turned around, her face hardened in iron determination.

"This ends today!" she yelled, holding up her left hand, the scar pulsating with light. "No matter what comes, we walk down the mountain having saved our loved ones and ourselves!" She glanced at Finn as she spoke, and he gave her a reassuring smile. "Are you with me, mages?"

A collective battle cry rolled through the mages, and Finn joined in, caught up in the spirit of the moment.

Nani didn't waste any more time riling them up – the mages were already as ready to go as they'd ever be. She turned, took a couple of steps towards the Breach's long spur stretching almost to the ground, and raised her hand.

Finn closed his eyes.

It was easier to concentrate that way. He drew on the mana swirling inside him, as much a part of him as his own blood and breath; he mentally sought out the bright stream of energy coming from Nani's hand and found it, focusing on it. Deep breaths. _Concentrate_. Gritting his teeth, he pushed his magic out, away from his body, forcing it into the scar on Nani's palm.

He was barely aware of the fact that his nails were digging into his staff.

Deep breaths.

The air around them pulsated with magic, as electrically charged as the heart of a thunderstorm. Even Finn's advanced hearing was drowned out by the roaring wind, the hissing and sputtering of the Breach, the groaning of the mages around him in exhaustion.

He kept his eyes shut tight. His teeth ground together.

His magic was steadily being sucked out of his body, drawn towards Nani's mark like a moth to a bright flame. The loss of it sent his body into uncontrollable tremors, but he didn't stop. His sister needed him, and that was enough to keep him going.

Nanyehi was screaming. Or was that just the wind?

_Deep breaths._

The pull of Nani's mark was too much, and Finn fell to his knees, driving the butt of his staff into the ground beneath him. It felt as though his very blood was seeping out through his skin, funneling away from him, draining him of all his life.

Next to him, a mage grunted in pain.

An explosion and a herculean _boom_ shook the world, and Finn fell back on his rear, his eyes involuntarily snapping open. The breath flooded out of his lungs. He watched the Breach erupt in on itself, its light swelling, brightening, until it guttered out into nothingness, leaving behind an empty, swirling sea of clouds in the sky and an almost ethereal shimmer of green where the Breach's wicked reach had once been.

All around him, mages were struggling to stand. Finn stood on shaking legs, spotting his sister lying flat on her back, her arm stretched out beside her, the scar flickering faintly on her palm.

Cassandra reached her before Finn could. But Nani was already sitting up, her hand visibly trembling, and Cassandra rested a hand on her shoulder.

She looked up when Finn reached her, her eyes tight around the edges, panting heavily. But she still managed the slightest of smiles.

"You did it," he told her, his voice breathy and weak, as he held out a hand for her.

" _We_ did it," she corrected, taking his hand.

Despite his exhaustion, Finn pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms tight around her waist, lifting her high off the ground. She laughed tiredly and hugged him back, and they stood there for a minute or so, her feet dangling, her cheek pressed against his hair.

"Could it truly be over?" Cassandra wondered aloud, looking up at where the Breach had been with an amazed look on her face, her brown eyes wide.

Finn set Nani back on her feet, unsure if his shaking arms could hold her up any longer.

"It is sealed," Solas said, his expression soft. "It is over."

 _It's over_ , Finn thought, watching the sky in fascination. There'd be stray rifts scattered across Ferelden and Orlais to close, there'd be enemies to scuffle with, there'd be the matter of the Chantry deciding its next Divine – not to mention finding the one responsible for the first one's death.

It _wasn't_ over, he realized. While the killer was still at large, they could create another Breach any moment. They could build the demon army that Finn, Nani, and Dorian had seen in the future a year out. They could assassinate the Empress of Orlais.

The Breach, massive as it may have been, was just a small step.

And Finn was ready to take the next.

* * *

It was early evening by the time the news of Nani's success at the Breach had really sunken in and Haven began to come alive. Soldiers and workers and villagers and mages danced outside with their arms linked, kicking up little tufts of snow. Laughter and whoops echoed all around. The sky was graying, darkening; Finn could just barely see the tiniest pinpricks of stars above him, when he looked up and squinted.

He breathed out a soft huff of a breath, watching it fog up before him. Then he jogged down the hill, almost getting bowled over by a couple dancing and giggling past him. He spotted Dorian standing at the firepit near Haven's front gates, leaning against the retaining wall, alone; Finn made up his mind, approaching him.

"Hey!" He hopped down from the wall, landing a couple feet from Dorian and straightening up. "Not going to join in the festivities?"

"Decided to drop in?" Dorian asked, avoiding the question. The mage's grey eyes brightened a touch at the sight of Finn, and he smiled, looking down at him. "One would think you'd be gallivanting about in the snow with some doe-eyed woman clinging to you, batting her eyelashes and swooning into your arms. It seems like that sort of night."

Finn chuckled, shaking his head. "This hypothetical woman would be sorely disappointed," he said.

"I can't imagine why," Dorian said.

"One, I suck at dancing." Finn raised his hand in front of his face and dramatically lifted his index finger. "Two, _look at me_. This hypothetical woman would likely be bigger than I am, and the moment she swooned at me, she'd knock me over and crush me flat." And three, Finn probably wouldn't have been interested in her in the slightest, unless she had a sexy accent, a moustache, and looked exactly like Dorian, in which case… All right, that mental image was getting a little weird.

"Well, aren't you just a fount of self deprecation today?" Dorian teased. "I'm certain you're stronger than you let on."

"And how do you know this?" Finn challenged, raising his chin.

Dorian laughed, holding his gaze. "Must I rattle off your physical accomplishments thus far? Not to mention, my friend, that I have carried you quite a distance – and I'll have you know you're _heavy_."

"…so you're calling me fat."

"I'm saying you're all muscle, you nitwit," Dorian said, giving a half-amused, half-exasperated sigh and looking out at the people dancing around Haven, his eyes serene. "You certainly didn't feel like the bag of twigs you _claim_ to be."

If Dorian used the words _I carried you_ and _feel_ any more often, Finn might've ended up being the one doing some serious swooning. It was a damn shame he'd been barely coherent the one and only time he'd been in Dorian's arms.

Life was a bit of a bitch.

"The first argument still stands," Finn tried. "I really _do_ suck at dancing."

If Dorian had been about to say something, he never got the chance; Nanyehi charged up to Finn and threw herself at him, _giggling_ ; Finn caught her and held her in a tight hug for a moment or so.

"They like me," she told him excitedly, breaking away from him; she grabbed his hands and clasped them in both of hers, her palms sweaty and hot. "People _like me_. They're telling me _thank you_ , and _Maker bless you_ , and I don't even care that we don't believe in the Maker or anything – Finn, is this how you feel most of the time?"

Her unbridled enthusiasm at being given positive attention nearly made Finn laugh. "Please, Nani, that's nothing like I feel," he said. "I get less ' _Maker bless you_ 's and more ' _Get out from under the table you deer-humper'_." Ah, that brought back memories of finding all those red scarves in Val Royeaux with Varric… "The last thing you want to turn into is the weird elf with the inappropriate humor. You saved them all. You deserve this."

"We saved them all," she corrected, yet again, squeezing his hands. She blinked, looking up at Dorian, who offered her a friendly smile. "Next time Finn tries to pass off credit, wring his neck."

"If you say so," Dorian said with a short bark of a laugh.

"Hey," Finn said.

"Josephine's calling me," Nanyehi said, looking past Finn up the hill. She dropped his hands, took a step back, and then stopped and stared at Finn with a strangely intense expression. "Finn… I love you. You know that, right?"

"I love you, too," Finn said; it was as easy for him to say as blinking and breathing were to do. "What brought this on?"

Nani snatched a windblown strand of dark red hair from off her face and tucked it behind her ear. "Because the world always balances out, doesn't it? Whenever we're really happy like this, something bad always happens to swing it back to the other side. And I wanted to make sure I'd said it. Just in case." With that, she left, him, running up the hill.

"Pessimist!" Finn called after her.

"Aren't your standards a little high?" Dorian reminded him. "Most people don't say _'well, fancy that, I'm feeling downright extraordinaire'_ after a near fatal stabbing."

Finn snorted. "I did _not_ use those words."

Dorian grinned widely. "I'm compensating for your uncouth speech patterns."

"Yeah, yeah, make fun of how the poor, innocent forest savage speaks," Finn said, his mouth tweaking in a dry half-smile. "I'll have you know I have plenty of useful skills other than making high-society talk, Mr. _Oooh Look At Me I Had A Heart Attack Over A Smidgeon of Dirt On My Boot_."

"That was not a simple smidgeon," Dorian said. "And you using the word _smidgeon_ derails your poor-forest-savage plea."

"Do you enjoy crushing all my dreams of victimization?" Finn said, lightly punching Dorian's arm. He was tempted to leave his hand there and conspicuously squeeze Dorian's bicep, but he didn't really want to be buried six feet underground in a matter of seconds.

Dorian raised an eyebrow with a short breath of a laugh. "I'll tell you this much, Finn – of all my most recent mental fantasies, crushing your dreams is not one of them."

If Finn had been drinking anything, he'd have spat it out all over the snow.

"…would you care to elaborate?" he said instead, heat rushing through his body like an instantaneous fever.

Dorian opened his mouth to answer, then shut it just as quickly when a sound startled them both – the brassy, deep sound of a war horn echoing through the village, so loud it vibrated the ground beneath them. The Chantry bell tolled loudly in response, its clear notes ringing in the air. Both Finn and Dorian looked up, startled; Finn pushed away from the wall, watching Commander Cullen and Cassandra head swiftly to the locked front gate, pausing in front of it.

"There's an army coming our way, Commander!" a scout shouted, jumping down from the stack-stone wall surrounding Haven.

Finn could see it now – a barely noticeable winking and bobbing of lights heading in a slow-moving stream through the mountain pass. There must've been at least a thousand, if his eyes were any judge. He strained to see them, far away as they were, just barely catching the silvery glinting of their armor in the dying light of the sun.

"Under what banner?" Cullen shouted back, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Nani, already outfitted with her bow and a quiver full of arrows, joined Cassandra and Cullen and watched the mountain pass. Varric, Sera, and Bull emerged from the tavern; Solas jogged down the hill to join Finn and Dorian, watching the moving force the entire time. Finn saw First-Enchanter Vivienne standing with Josephine and Leliana up the hill, her armored robes pristine and stirring in the slight breeze; Blackwall came out from who-knew-where and moved to Cassandra's side, his expression hard.

"None, Commander!" the scout reported.

"Can you feel it?" Solas said softly to Finn. "The energy coming from them. It reaches far past them. It must be immensely powerful."

Finn concentrated, staring at the bobbing sea of lights until he could see nothing else. There was a brushing of something indeterminable against his senses, something _strong_ – he could feel the mana in his blood protesting at the feel of it, boiling, a rushing current in his veins.

"Templars," he whispered, looking over at Dorian, then Solas; both nodded solemnly in silent agreement. Finn strode over to Cullen, raising his staff briefly in the air to catch everyone's attention. "They're Templars!"

Cassandra peered down at him, her gaze pure steel. "Are you _certain?"_

"I feel it too," Cullen said, staring past the wall at the approaching horde. "Maker's breath. They're certainly not marching here for peaceful reasons. And we aren't fortified enough to defend against them."

"We should get out there and meet them head-on," Nani said, taking a step for the gate and glancing behind her at Cullen and Cassandra. "If they reach Haven, all of these villagers will be caught in the crossfire."

Finn chewed on his tongue, thinking on it as Cullen, Nani, and Cassandra discussed the idea. If someone – say, an anonymous elven mage that knew some rogue techniques and could escape quickly – could get alone on the hill above them and rain down magic while they weren't expecting it…then said unnamed mage could do a great deal of damage and buy Haven some time to prepare.

He strode forward.

"Oh, _no_ you don't," Dorian said. In one swift move he grabbed Finn around the middle, spun him, and threw him over his shoulder.

Finn hung over Dorian's shoulder, loose as a ragdoll with his arms and legs dangling, for a couple of surprised moments; then he shook his head violently to clear it, absolutely baffled that Dorian had intercepted him.

"… _how_ did you…?" Finn said, fuming.

"Oh, you thought I wouldn't notice? Adorable," Dorian said, walking over to where the others stood and ignoring Finn's protests. "You had that joyously suicidal look in your eyes. And I recall saying someone had to prevent you from your reckless tendencies."

"Thanks, Dorian," Finn heard Nani say gratefully.

"I aim to please," Dorian said.

"Dorian." Finn thumped Dorian's back with his hands, but not hard – he didn't exactly want to hurt him. It appeared to have zero effect, naturally. "Put me down."

"Absolutely not," Dorian said. "You killing yourself will get us nowhere."

"…please?"

"No."

" _Dorian_."

"Yes, Finn?"

"I will feed you to a rift. Moustache first."

"Rather cruel, don't you think?"

"Maker's balls," Blackwall cut in exasperatedly. Sera giggled.

"Look, Frosty, no one's going to take your side on this one," Varric said from somewhere Finn couldn't see; he sounded like he was having a tough time holding back a chuckle. "Especially not after what happened in Redcliffe. I'd get comfortable there."

Finn sighed.

"We have a few minutes before they reach us," Cullen said. "We need to get the trebuchets aimed, and organize the mages and our forces into some sort of unified front. If someone could – "

"I'm on it," Nani said. "I'll take my group outside the wall and defend the trebuchets." A pause; she raised her voice. "Leliana, Madame Vivienne, could you organize the mages? Bull, get the Chargers. We'll need them. Meet us outside. Varric, you've got a loud voice – start getting villagers to safety. Solas, help Varric. Sera, Cassandra, Blackwall, Dorian, Finn, come with me?"

The wooden gates rattled, something slamming them from the other side; Finn pushed on Dorian's shoulders, trying to get him to turn so Finn could see what was going on.

"I can't come in unless you open!" a voice cried.

Boots scuffing the ground. Murmurs. Someone striding through the snow.

The gate creaked open.


	19. An Unquenchable Flame

At this point, Finn really wasn't in a prime position to see what was going on. He contemplated pinching Dorian until the fellow mage dropped him, but decided against it. Better to lure Dorian into a false sense of security, then make a run for the hill above the approaching force. Despite his shorter stature, Finn could outrun anyone. He was certain of that.

His ribs were already starting to ache from his position over Dorian's shoulder, but Dorian had such a good grip on him that even adjusting himself was a feat.

He heard Nani ask the obvious "who are you?" to whoever had cried for them to open the gates.

"I'm Cole," said a voice with a wavering, airy pitch – from the sound of it, he'd come inside. "I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You…probably already know."

"What's going on?" Cassandra asked. "Why are there Templars marching on Haven? Do you know?"

"You know they're Templars?" Cole asked, sounding surprised. "How could you see?"

Finn waved a hand high over his head, trying to crane his neck around to look at Cole. "Over here. I felt it. We mages did. I'd greet you properly, but this bastard decided I'm a sack of potatoes for the day. Hope you like the view of my legs."

"Let's not get snippy," Dorian said.

"What am I in, time-out?" Finn huffed. "I _am_ a grown man, Dorian. I can make my own decisions."

"Yes, well, your decision a few moments ago was unequivocally dumb, and would have resulted in what would likely be an extraordinarily gruesome death," Dorian said. Finn could practically _hear_ him rolling his eyes. "As such, I took it upon myself to save you from your own stupidity. And I mean that in the warmest way possible."

"Could you at least turn around so I can see what's going on?" Finn said.

"There's a fatal flaw in your grand plan, Finn. That means I can't see."

"Just swivel around for a second so I can get a quick glimpse. Or, you know, _drop me_."

"Drop 'im on his face so he quits yammering," Sera snapped from somewhere Finn couldn't see; well, at this point, he couldn't really see anyone, just a spectacularly useless view of Haven's buildings.

"Good grief," Dorian said. "What would we do without Finn's constant smart mouth? Where would we be? I can't imagine such a world."

Cole's voice came again; Finn was getting more and more curious about what he looked like. "Breaths short, ribs aching, eyes hot with blue fire. You think your hurting will spare others the hurting, if you take it all," he said. "But it _causes_ their hurting. _Don't go. Don't die. I can't watch you bleed again_."

Finn froze.

Unless he'd just had an auditory hallucination, Finn had somehow just heard Cole reach into his thoughts and desires and yank them out into the open. Except that had only been half of Cole's statement. Who did the other portion, the last part, belong to?

"What are you…?" Nani said, sounding as stunned as Finn felt.

"Freaky," Sera said. " _Eeeugh_."

Struck silent, Dorian grabbed Finn around the middle and hefted him back to his feet. Finn landed just as silently, blinked, and spun around to face Cole.

He was greeted with the sight of a young man with flaxen hair hanging over his eyes, blue eyes as crisp and intense as a summer sky. The young man's skin was pale, barely flushed at the cheeks, and by the look of his armor – and his twin daggers – he was a rogue. But the most striking thing was his hat: a wide-brimmed, leather giant of a hat, one that would almost certainly render the young man's sneaking skills useless. He stared hard at Finn, his eyes nearly piercing through him.

"Can we get this back on track before the Templars stomp all over us?" Cullen said. "We have little time."

"That would be _great_ ," Blackwall grunted.

"Cole, what do the Templars want?" Nani asked. "Why are they here?"

Cole broke his gaze away from Finn, turning to Nani. "They come to kill you."

Finn's anger flared. An entire Templar horde marched on Haven just to wipe out his sister? Let them _try_.

Cullen's eyes narrowed into near slits, and he drew his sword; Cole skittered away a step. "Why would they do this?" Cullen snapped. "Is this the Order's response to our alliance with the mages? Attacking blindly? This is preposterous. They can't just stroll in and kill the Herald."

"They want her," Cole said, looking up at Cullen. "They want her badly. The red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages."

Nani just lifted her head defiantly, yanking her dark hair back into a knot at the nape of her neck.

"How do you know all this?" Cassandra sounded suspicious.

"I hear them." In one jerky motion Cole swiveled to look at Cassandra. "Loud thoughts. Loud and angry. You took his mages. She took more than that." He pointed, to somewhere beyond Haven's walls where even Finn couldn't make out details. "There. The Elder One."

Alexius _had_ mentioned Nani's interference at the Temple being a mistake, that the Elder One wanted her dead. Perhaps this had something to do with that? Or _everything_ to do with it. Finn's nails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists. If he could just get up on the rise above the Templars…he could have reached it by now…

Cole eyed Finn again, his stare penetrative.

"You want to help," Cole said. "I know. But you can't hold them and sooth their pain when they're weeping over your dead body."

His words hit Finn like a slap in the face. Finn stood there, his jaw involuntarily clenching, his eyes wide. He looked down at the snow, looked back up –

– and Cole was gone.

* * *

The wooden trebuchet towered above them where they stood outside the walls, its frame creaking and moaning as several Inquisition soldiers turned the crank and positioned it to fire on the approaching Templars. Finn estimated the force was only a couple of minutes away.

No one had been able to correctly deduce who Cole was. Worse still, some of them didn't even remember him – Cullen, namely. No one passing by had recalled seeing him. And yet Finn didn't think he _could_ forget, not with those words burned into his mind.

_Don't go. Don't die. I can't watch you bleed again._

Cole had certainly not been talking of his own feelings about Finn, considering they'd just met that moment and Cole probably didn't give half a shit if Finn died. And how had he done that? How had he ripped Finn's martyr complex from his brain and exposed it to the elements so effortlessly?

Questions, questions.

"See that?" Nani announced, pointing at the path up the valley. "There are some coming ahead of the main body."

"On your guard!" Cassandra warned.

Sera and Nani both nocked an arrow, holding their bows at the ready. Finn peered down the path, spotting a couple Templars treading their way, outfitted with heavy metal armor and glimmering tower shields.

Dorian unleashed a fiery explosion on the Templars; at the same time, Finn fired a bolt of shock their way. Their armor seemed to withstand it for a second, but then the hissing, snapping lightning and roaring fire nearly disintegrated them, and they fell to the snow, dull glimmers of singed metal against the fluffy white.

"Does it feel like we're cheating?" Finn asked Dorian. "It feels like we're cheating."

"Hardly." Dorian smirked. "It's not going to get easier from this point. Especially if one of them aims a spell purge our way."

Ah, yes – the dreaded spell purge. The bane of any mage's existence. Finn knew a Templar's spell purge could drain a mage's mana in a matter of seconds and render said mage completely useless. It took a great deal of training and focus, from what he understood, but once a Templar unleashed it…well, it wasn't something a mage ever wanted to experience. _Ever_.

The main body of the Templars had just started to filter up the path when the trebuchet fired.

The projectile hit the side of the mountain – where Finn might have been, had things gone his way – and brought a roaring avalanche of snow down on a portion of the horde. Even from where he stood Finn heard screaming and the clashing of metal.

But as it turned out, Dorian was right – those two initial Templars had not been any indication of what was to come.

The tide and tenor of the evening shifted from a scuffle to a full-blown battle as most of the surviving Templars began to arrive on the field. And yet even with their great numbers, Finn could still see an endless trail of bobbing lights along the mountain path, crossing over where the avalanche had buried their brethren. Finn tried not to dwell on it, focusing instead on the fighting.

It was chaos. The allied mages burst from within Haven and began unleashing a storm of every element possible on the Templars, many of which resisted and put up a solid fight. Arrows whistled through the air in every direction, some of them nearly hitting Finn as he dodged and fired. He could hear Cassandra's and Blackwall's yells, mixing with the cacophony of war. At some point Varric and Solas rejoined the mix, and soon Bull and his Chargers came – well, charging – down to the battlegrounds.

Finn ignored the chaos around him, aimed at a Templar, and fired an ice bolt; the bolt shredded through another unfortunate Templar who'd stepped into the way and hit its target, sinking cleanly into the front of the Templar's helm and bending the metal inward.

Finn blinked. Then he rushed over and peered down at his handiwork, grinning triumphantly.

"Dorian!" he yelled, ducking under an arrow's trajectory. He'd lost the fellow mage in the scuffle. _"Dorian!"_

It took only a moment, but Dorian skidded up to Finn, blasting fire through another Templar as he went. "What's the matter?" he shouted over the noises of battle. "That had better not be one of your organs lying in the snow, or I swear – "

"I got the ice bolt in his mouth!" Finn pointed down at the dead Templar, then twisted out of the way of a sword swing, jamming his staff into the attacker's chestplate and shoving him back with a grunt. "You didn't forget that bet we made, did you?"

" _Now_ , Finn?" Dorian said, raining fire down on a couple of Templars running their way.

"It'll melt!" Finn said. The same Templar ran at him again; he hit the man with a shock ball and watched him writhe to the ground.

Dorian made an incredulous noise. "I suppose I'm buying, then!"

Then the fighting separated them again, and Finn lost sight of everyone familiar; the red flashes of fire, the purplish white crackles of lightning, and the electric blue frost whipped all around them in endless arcs of magic, making it nearly impossible to tell who was who.

A moment later, Nani charged past Finn; he barely caught her cry of "come on!" over the din. Shrugging, Finn caught up to her, running after her. She ran backwards for a second, assessing the situation, and then turned around and sprinted pell-mell up the hill. "The other trebuchet isn't firing!" she informed him breathlessly. "Soldiers might be dead! We need to take their places!"

She hadn't been wrong on that front. Upon reaching the second trebuchet up the hill, Finn realized quickly why it wasn't firing; a slew of bodies in Inquisition armor lay scattered around in the snow and dirt, and standing around them were several red Templars…and some towering, blighted monster of a creature, its body a mass of giant red lyrium chunks that melted the snow around it with its blistering heat.

Fuck a bucket. What the _hell_ was that thing?

Nani dove to the side and fired an arrow, but it glanced harmlessly off the creature's crystalline form. Finn watched her change tactics and work on taking out the more human enemies. A minute later Dorian, Solas, Cassandra and Bull had joined the fight, and Finn focused his attention on the trebuchet.

It wasn't even aimed correctly anymore. If it fired on the mountain, it could cause another avalanche and wipe out more Templars. He ran to it and grasped the heavy wooden wheel in two hands, straining to turn it.

But he'd only managed to crank its position halfway to the desired spot before the red lyrium beast thundered down on him.

Finn abandoned the trebuchet out of necessity, diving out of the way of the creature's massive swinging arm. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bull pick up the slack, cranking the trebuchet faster than Finn's smaller arms ever could.

Hold a moment…Solas hadn't been teaching him barrier techniques for nothing.

"Look at me, you fat, ugly bastard!" Finn shouted, firing an ice bolt against its rocky hide. The creature lumbered after him as he backed up. He whistled loudly. "Here, boy! Come get me! You want some elf-chow? We taste like venison! I think!"

If everything worked according to plan, he could draw the thing away from the others until they'd cleared the area of Templars.

But when did things go according to plan?

Finn threw a crude barrier around himself just as the creature lifted an arm and shot red lyrium shards his way. They sliced through the air, skimming his barrier; he'd have gotten several fashionable cutouts in him if he hadn't had the barrier up. He cupped his hands together, focusing, drawing on a frost attack…

…and staggered when the full force of a spell purge hit him in the side.

 _Stupid!_ He hadn't been expecting a Templar to catch him from that angle, but said Templar must've had a long enough time to charge the purge. Finn's magic fizzled out of his blood, his mana dying inside him.

The offending Templar raised his tower shield like a battering ram and charged, and Finn jumped forward, dodging.

Mistake.

The red behemoth's arm clubbed him, plowing into him with so much force that Finn heard an audible crack as one – or more – of his ribs snapped.

He _flew_.

His body tumbled across the battlefield like a limp doll, limbs flying, snow tufting up around him. He careened sideways into a Templar's metal tower shield and ricocheted off it a couple feet, landing on the snowy ground with a thud. His head spun; his vision was white and disoriented around the edges.

Straining for breath, he shifted onto his back, just barely catching the Templar above him plunging his sword down, aiming for Finn's abdomen. Finn had just enough strength to roll out of the way and lift a hand, firing an ice bolt through the Templar's neck and shredding it. The enemy's body collapsed heavily on top of Finn, nearly crushing him flat.

Thank the creators the spell purge had worn off. Having a dead Templar lying on top of him was better than the alternative.

The mountain in the distance rumbled as the trebuchet finally fired, burying a the majority of the approaching forces in rubble and snow. From somewhere nearby, Nani let out a triumphant yell. Finn struggled to shove the armored corpse off him, wincing when the pain in his ribs made it hard to push.

"I lose sight of you for one second and you're suddenly rolling across the field like a Maker-damned snowball," Dorian snapped, running up to Finn; Finn watched him drag the armored body off him with a heavy expulsion of breath. "And now you're buried under a Templar. Could be worse, I suppose."

"Famous last words," Finn wheezed, standing…and immediately plunging to his knees in the snow with a hiss of pain as his left ankle exploded in pain, giving out beneath him.

Broken. Completely, absolutely broken. He was certain of it.

"Finn?" Dorian tried again to lift him to his feet. "What happened?"

Finn's ankle wasn't having that; his flimsy elven bones had twisted and shattered sometime during his mad tumble through the snow. He muffled a grunt of pain into his clenched fist and shook his head, sinking back to his knees.

" _Go_ ," Finn told Dorian, looking past him; the battlefield had been cleared of normal Templars, at least, and he caught sight of Bull's great-axe smashing into the behemoth's body. "There'll be more coming. I'll just sit here and shoot. I'll be like a fixed magic-trebuchet. A really small one. Plus my hair could blend in with the snow. _Camouflage_. Pretty nifty."

"You've gone mad," Dorian growled, hooking one of Finn's arms over his shoulders and curving his own arm around Finn's back, lifting him to his one good foot. Obviously, he wasn't in a mood to listen to Finn's urging to leave. "And if you protest me taking you back within the walls, I swear I will kill you."

"Counterproductive, don't you think?" Finn said, tweaking his mouth into as much of a grin as he could muster; he hopped on one foot, letting Dorian support much of his weight. He looked around for his staff in the snow, terrified that he'd lost it, but immediately spotted Nani pulling it out of a snowdrift and tucking its shaft under her arm.

Both of them froze when _something_ roared overhead.

It was a guttural, rumbling roar, so powerful Finn thought his ears might bleed; he squinted and looked up, and Dorian did the same next to him.

A dragon, its scaly ebony hide visible even against the dark grey of the sky, swooped low over the battlefield and breathed a torrent of fire down on the trebuchet, incinerating it to sad little bits. The main piece of the trebuchet fell over with a creak, and pieces of wood sprayed upwards, scattered by the force of the dragon's wings.

"Oh, _that's_ just what we needed to make this day wonderful," Dorian said.

"Look at it!" Bull yelled. He looked more in awe than anything else.

"Everyone to the gates!" Nani yelled. "Now!"

The dragon banked and flew over the village, a great black behemoth in the sky. It opened its mouth and spewed fire over the buildings; Finn could already smell burning wood, see bits of ash and smoke seeping into the air. Then its flight path took it out of sight for a moment; Finn spotted Nani and Cassandra standing down the hill, waiting for him to reach them. Nani was wringing her hands so hard Finn thought she might break her own bones.

"Shit," Finn said. "He _would_ have a fucking dragon."

"Your vocabulary knows no bounds," Dorian said, urging him forward a step. "I should buy you a thesaurus."

Finn shook his head. "I'm going to slow you down. Let go. Just watch – I can make it there on one leg." He pulled away from Dorian, hopped a few triumphant steps, and face-planted in the snow. _"Fuck."_

"That performance was soul-inspiring," Dorian said dryly.

Finn's voice was muffled by the snow. "Shoo."

"Yes. Marvelous plan, Finn. Do you have a checklist of creatures you're trying to sacrifice yourself to?" Dorian bent mid-stride, hooked his arms under Finn, and scooped him up. "I imagine it's halfway complete by now."

"Well now we'll _both_ be sacrifices," Finn said, wincing when sharp pain jolted through his ribs. At any other point in his life he'd be overjoyed to be carried like this, but his broken ribs and the dragon overhead were rather ruining the moment. "Had to steal my thunder, didn't you?"

Dorian just rolled his eyes.


	20. Terms of Burial

Nanyehi surveyed the situation in the Chantry, her innards twisting in a growing sense of dread.

They'd evacuated everyone possible from Haven, sequestering them in the Chantry and barring the wooden double doors. The building teemed with people – mages, soldiers, the occasional Templar recruits who hadn't defected and become the red variety, scared villagers huddling together in clumps, servants and workers with confusion on their faces. She could hear the dragon's roaring outside, hear each flap of its great black wings.

Of all the faces in there, the majority of them were turned to her.

She knew why. Only this morning they'd been given the news that _she_ had saved the world and them and swallowed the Breach into the scar on her hand (not that it went that way, but whatever.) And now, faced with another catastrophe, they once again looked to her for guidance.

Her slim shoulders felt heavy with so much weight on them.

She thinned her lips, finding Finn sitting against one of the walls with his broken leg stretched out in front of him. Someone – Minaeve or Adan, possibly – had wrapped his swelling ankle tight, although nothing could be done for his ribs at the moment. He looked up with his usual smile when he saw her, but she couldn't smile back. Not this time.

"Finn," she said, reaching him, "I'm half-tempted to kill you."

"You're going to have to get in line," he said with a chuckle. "Dorian's already signed up for first dibs. Take it up with him."

"This isn't funny, Finn. Not this." Nani's heart had been hammering around in her chest for the past several minutes now, and her hands were slick with sweat. "You can't just taunt a giant, nearly indestructible monster and _not_ expect to get smashed halfway across the battlefield. What were you thinking? You're lucky you only broke a couple bones!"

His brows pulled together. "If I hadn't been hit with that spell purge – "

" _Stop_ ," she begged him. "You do this. You always do this. You fight like a reckless idiot and you're going to get yourself killed!" And creators knew she couldn't bear the thought of losing her brother because of that.

 _Someone_ had to yell at him eventually for it – awful task as it was, it fell to her.

The commotion had started to draw attention. People looked her way, obviously shocked by her raised voice, but didn't move or come any closer, thank goodness. The attention made her nervous, but she'd had enough of watching her older brother come inches from death so many times, all because he didn't take care of himself on the battlefield. _Every_ Dalish knew how to sneak, how to evade. Finn chose not to.

"Direct any and all concerns to my secretary," Finn said, shrugging. He turned to Varric, who was a few feet away, wiping Bianca clean with a rag. "Varric. You want to be my secretary?"

"I'm writing your biography, pal," Varric said, snickering. "I can't do two jobs at once."

"Damn," Finn said.

Nani cleared her throat and sat down, lowering her voice. People began to resume their usual nervous chatter. "Why can't you just fight more carefully?" she asked.

Finn set his jaw stubbornly. "There's a _possibility_ , Nani, that you barely take any injuries during battle because I take them all _for_ you."

"Well, stop doing that. I know how to fight."

"Yeah. You do. But you take one hard blow and you're gone. Why would I take that chance?"

"Stop protecting me," she hissed. "I don't take hits when I'm careful."

"You don't take hits when _I'm taking them_ ," he argued.

Her temper flared. She wanted him to see reason so badly that she nearly lost control of her words. " _Neither of us_ need to get hurt, Finn! There's a reason warriors carry shields and wear heavy armor – they're _built_ to withstand injury. Let them attract the attention."

"There's – " he started.

Nani's voice picked up the slightest of snarls. " _Stop. Protecting. Me_."

Finn's glacial blue eyes widened, and he thumped his head back against the wall, a muscle jumping in his jaw. He stared over at her for a quiet, awkward moment, then slowly, deliberately shook his head. "No…you can't ask me to do that. You're my _little sister_."

"Why?" Nani gritted her teeth together. "You don't think I can survive without you?"

"That's not – "

"I've had enough of this shit," Varric snapped, stepping between the two of them; Nani rose to her feet and backed up a step. "Stop it. Frosty's in a lot of pain, Herald. Go easy." He looked up at her, his eyes narrowed to near slits. "Hawke told me about her little brother once. Carver. He was always upset about her protecting him and taking the accolades, she said. You want to know what happened to him? He charged an ogre without being prepared and died."

"See?" Nani said. "Maybe Finn should stop charging monsters."

"Look, don't go beating up Frosty about wanting to protect you," Varric said exasperatedly. "I've seen enough death in my life to know shit actually happens. And Frosty, Hawke would have a lot to say about your suicidal fighting style. You're _going to get yourself killed_. Carver wasn't exactly a weakling, and that ogre still made a pulp out of him. I'm going to stop myself before I make some sappy speech about working together. But _enough with the yelling_." With that, he strode away, shaking his head the whole time.

Finn crossed his arms tight over his chest, then winced – those broken ribs must've been hurting him more than he let on.

"You're hurting the people who care about you, Finnie," Nani said. "If you won't listen to Cole or Dorian, then listen to me."

Maybe, just maybe, if she was harsh enough, she'd snap him out of his desire to take everyone's injuries. It'd be a difficult feat; Finn had been throwing himself into battle with reckless abandon since he could hold up his staff. But she'd try nevertheless.

"I…I _know_ , Nani, I just…If you got hurt, I…" he started, then ducked his head, his ice-white hair falling forward and obscuring his expression from her. "I'm sorry."

His hair was getting a little longer, Nani thought affectionately, long enough to nearly brush his eyebrows if he didn't sweep it away from his forehead. She hadn't noticed this until now, really. Sure, it had been growing for quite some time, obviously, but she hadn't really taken in details about her brother – until the Inquisition, he'd been a constant fixture in her daily life, always the same. Always grinning, always making her laugh, always _Finn_. Now she really looked at him, and saw changes: worry lines on his forehead, scrapes on his arms from tumbling across the ground, the way he kept clenching his jaw.

She bit the inside of her cheek and stood, leaving him there.

Cullen and Cassandra were standing near the barred doors, talking in hushed voices; Nani strode over to them, rubbing her forehead and sighing. Near them, lying leaning against the wall and being looked over by Cole, was Chancellor Roderick. Nani could tell he'd been heavily wounded – thick, crimson blood was seeping through the front of his Chantry robes. He looked stabilized, for the moment, but she doubted he'd live much longer.

That could have been Finn. Fear squeezed her throat tight.

"Our position is not good, Lady Lavellan," Cullen said, his features drawn and tired. "That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us. We won't survive in here for long. It's cut a path for any Templars that survived the avalanches, and soon enough they'll break in here. We…" He briefly pinched the bridge of his nose. "We have no chance."

"We have people in here who can fight," Nani reminded him. "If we make that door a choke point, it's defensible."

"From a _dragon?"_ Cassandra said. "We don't have the strength to fight it."

"The Elder One doesn't care about the village and the people," Cole said, looking up from where he knelt at Chancellor Roderick's side. "He only wants her. The Herald. She's the one who makes him angry."

"He can't have her," Cullen snapped.

"No one else matters," Cole continued. "Just her. His thoughts are so loud. He'll crush anyone to get to her, kill them anyway. I don't like him."

"You don't like – " Cullen cut himself off, sounding exasperated. "Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The – "

Nani held up a hand, palm forward, to stop him. She could feel the eyes of the people on her still, watching her, waiting for her to save them. So much pressure… "Wait a minute, Cullen. There _are_ tactics. We'll lose hundreds of lives if I stay here in the Chantry. I can draw this Elder One away from here."

"The _last_ thing we need is for you to start sounding like your brother," Cassandra said.

"That's insane," Cullen said.

"Hear me out." Nani gestured at the barred doors. "He doesn't have to catch anyone. I know what I'm doing. We've still got one functioning trebuchet, correct? Let's turn it. Bury Haven."

Cassandra's eyes widened.

"Doesn't the Chantry have underground cellars, prisons, something?" she said, finding it rather ironic that there might be prison cells in a place of worship. "Stuff people in there. I think this building is strong enough to withstand the snow."

"No." Cullen shook his head. "The Chantry is an old building. It won't hold. But I'm not discounting the trebuchets. If someone gets out there and buries Haven…at least we'll be deciding how we die. Many don't get that choice."

"If this building won't hold, then we'll think of another way," Nani said firmly. "We can't just throw our lives away."

"What other choice do we have?" Cullen argued.

"There…is a path." Chancellor Roderick's feeble, shaking voice broke through their conversation from where he lay. "You wouldn't know it unless you'd made the Summer Pilgrimage. As I have." He gave a rattling cough. "The people…can escape. Andraste…must have shown me so I could…tell you."

"And the Elder One and his forces will just follow us through the path until they get to me," Nani said softly, thinking a moment. "Cullen, I need to trust you to lead everyone out of here. I'm going to get out there and fire that trebuchet. The surviving troops need to be buried before they reach the Chantry."

Cullen silently took in what she'd said, obvious worry creeping onto his face. His voice carried a strange pitch to it when he said, "and what of your escape? You'll bring the mountain down on you."

"I'm small and I fit into crevices," Nani said, shrugging. "Either I outrun the avalanche, or I get out of its way. No one has to die. Not today."

"The chances of that are…" Cullen started.

"…slim," Cassandra finished for him.

"It _has_ to be me out there," she insisted. "It makes sense. If the Elder One, whoever or whatever he is, senses I'm escaping Haven, he'll just keep marching Templars after us. I can draw his attention and keep him occupied."

"I'll go with you," Cassandra said.

Nani nodded, hesitantly. "I might need your aid, Cassandra. But I can't ask this of anyone. It'll be dangerous."

"Our _lives_ are dangerous," Cassandra said. "And I promised I would stand at your side. No matter what." She took a step back. "I will ask the others if any are willing to help." Then she left Nani and Cullen alone.

"Will you get the people to safety, Cullen?" she asked him.

Cullen looked down at her for a silent moment. She saw him swallow hard, then nod wordlessly, looking as if it pained him to do so.

Nani pulled her bow from her back, taking a deep breath and steeling herself. This wouldn't be easy, not by any stretch of the imagination. The area was likely swarming with those Templars who hadn't been buried by the avalanches, and building up the speed to outrun another one might be nothing short of a miracle. But she trusted herself.

"We'll meet you up the mountain," Nani said. She suddenly felt strangely calm about all this. It was in her hands, and she'd make sure it would end well. No one had to be a martyr here. "Take care of yourselves."

"And you. _Please_ ," Cullen said, turning away.


	21. He Who Would Be God

Nani paused just outside the Chantry, looking over her shoulder at Cassandra, Blackwall, and Sera, who'd agreed to follow her out here on her risky, seemingly suicide mission to bury Haven under a load of snow and rock.

"We can't draw all the attention to the trebuchet," she said. "They'll swarm us and take us down. Cassandra, Blackwall, I need you both to be as loud as possible and lure any Templars away from the trebuchet. Sera and I can sneak over there and get that crank turned. Once you think it's time, get into the Chantry. Don't worry about me."

"Are you certain?" Cassandra asked, tight worry lines around her eyes. "You will not be protected as well as you should be."

"We should be standing with you, mi'lady," Blackwall agreed. The older Warden's beard already had bits of blowing snow stuck in it, little white drops in a sea of black. He brushed a gauntleted hand through it, smoothing out the flakes of snow.

"We'll be fine," Nani insisted. "Sera and I can stay hidden on our way over there. And we'll be more effective if we aren't noticed."

"We'll just take 'em out with arrows!" Sera added, an oddly enthusiastic grin on her face. It seemed, for her, that the prospect of shooting things was enough to outweigh the possibility of death. "Those tits won't see us coming."

No, they wouldn't – a skilled rogue in stealth could do unparalleled amounts of damage. Nani had briefly considered enlisting a mage's aid, but her brother, the only mage she knew who could sneak nearly as well as her when he had the desire to, couldn't even walk. And if a Templar hit any of the mages with a spell purge, they'd be rendered useless. It had to be two rogues for such a delicate task, and Nani knew Sera was up to the challenge.

"We will draw them off you, then," Cassandra said. "Maker be with you."

"Creators guide you," Nani answered, stepping away.

"Blah, blah, _Creators_ blah. What nonsense." Sera made a fart noise with her mouth and followed.

 _I'm going to regret bringing Sera, aren't I?_ Nani thought to herself, sneaking to one of the ruined wooden buildings and pressing her back flat against the wall. Sera followed suit. The girl was a fantastic archer, no doubt about that, but she seemed to despise all things Dalish; Nani, who _adored_ all things Dalish (much more so than Finn, even) didn't see her and Sera having any sort of closeness in their future.

But it didn't matter much. Nani wasn't in the Inquisition to get chummy.

The great black dragon circled overhead like a vulture searching for carrion, its wings stirring the loose snow around Haven even from way up in the sky where it was. Every so often it let loose a high, keening screech that made Nani's ears feel like they were about to rip open.

She waited for the sounds of Blackwall and Cassandra engaging in battle, waited for the dragon to turn its head away, and rushed for the cover of the next building.

And that was the manner in which she approached the wall surrounding Haven, and the last trebuchet just within – waiting, holding her breath, sprinting whenever there was a good opportunity, her ears constantly honed in on the sounds of Templars rushing towards Cassandra and Blackwall up the hill. The frigid wind bit into the exposed skin on her face and neck and hands, the snow felt gritty and cold beneath her feet. Whenever she got too close to a burning building, the fires licked at her, singeing her even from a few inches away. She ignored it, gritting her teeth and focusing her eyes on the trebuchet.

All she and Sera had to do was turn it, then fire it on the mountainside. Then they'd make a mad sprint for the Chantry and get through the doors, Creators willing. Nani wouldn't need anyone there to show her the path out; she could track the footprints of the people who went before her.

She waited, staring at the trebuchet, crouched in the snow against a low retaining wall. There were two Templars blocking her path to the trebuchet, both armed with wicked-looking steel swords and tower shields. Very likely these two had been instructed to guard the trebuchet and hadn't followed the noise to where Cassandra and Blackwall were.

Nani nodded at Sera, then gestured silently at the Templar on the right. Sera grinned, pulling an arrow from the quiver at her back and getting it ready to fire; Nani aimed her own arrow at the Templar on the left, steadying herself.

She took a deep breath and held it, making herself as perfectly still as possible – it was a trick she'd learned from one of the older hunters. The rising and falling of one's diaphragm could disrupt a good shot, she knew, and cause one's hands to waver. And if she missed this shot, she'd be exposed.

With a sharp _twang_ she released her arrow from the string. It cut cleanly into the left Templar's throat, piercing one of the only non-armored parts of his body. Sera fired not even a second later, her arrow _thwack_ ing into the right Templar's forehead.

The two bodies fell to the ground, slowly, tipping over like felled trees, the snow somewhat muffling the metallic crashing of their armor and weapons.

"Bits up, face down," Sera said triumphantly. She looked over at Nani. "Hey – you're a pretty good shot, yourself."

"I have to be," Nani said, stretching out just a bit so she could peek back and forth and deduce if anyone was nearby.

Nothing passed between her and the trebuchet but the icy wind.

She dove for it, rolling back to her feet when she hit the ground. In the distance, she could still hear Cassandra and Blackwall fighting. Good – she didn't want them to lose their lives just to draw the focus off her and Sera.

Not wasting any time, she gripped the wooden crank in her freezing, nearly numb fingers and hauled it to the left. The trebuchet groaned and protested as it swiveled just a bit in the intended direction. Sera grabbed a couple of the other spokes on the crank and helped Nani turn it – the girl was surprisingly strong, for her size. The trebuchet shuddered and turned, inch by agonizing inch, and Nani's breaths were coming loud and fast as she pulled.

It shook to a stop, aimed up at the mountainside above, and Nani straightened her back, expelling a sharp breath.

"Be ready to run," she warned Sera. "The avalanche is going to pick up speed _fast_."

She reached a hand for it, took a deep breath.

But just as she was about to cut the trebuchet loose and fire on the mountainside, the black dragon roared, shaking the earth below as it swooped down towards them. _Curses_ , they'd have to dodge out of the way and hide before they could fire the damn thing; Nani was just able to yell a "get out of the way!" at Sera before the dragon spat a torrent of fire on them.

Nani dodged, the flames clawing at her armor. She rolled back to her feet, made ready to run…

…and was immediately blown sideways by an exploding fireball.

The earth spun, whirled, throwing Nani onto her back and knocking the air out of her lungs. Her vision faded to psychedelic pinpricks of color for a moment, fizzling back into reality as she managed to suck in a strangled breath. She turned her head to the side, squinting, straining to see through the wall of flames.

Something was coming towards her.

No – someone. And not Sera; Nani couldn't see or hear her anywhere. The towering figure strode straight through the fire, coming into crisp view, and Nani's heart squeezed its way up into her throat.

It – _he_ – was a monstrosity.

He must've been three times her height, if she was any judge. His abdomen was a rotted, gaped open mess of exposed ribs and sinew and the bloodied red of wet muscle; all over his body red lyrium shards jutted out like cancerous growths, especially on his head, where they'd completely parasitized one side of his scarred face. His arms were nearly skin and bone, shoulders covered by black, scaly pauldrons. But his eyes were the worst – piercing, intense, so full of hate that Nani found herself fixed to her spot in the snow.

She knew instantly that the Elder One had reached her at last.

 _Get up_ , she urged herself. _Get up! RUN!_

It was all she could do to struggle to her feet, forced to abandon her lost bow and arrows, wherever they'd been flung to. A massive rumbling behind her startled her; she looked over her shoulder to see the black dragon land and lope up behind her, the earth crumbling beneath it. It slowed to a halt and swung its scaly neck down, regarding her with wicked, feral eyes the color of pure blood. Its scalding breath steamed around her, reeking of smoke.

She looked around for an escape route, but found none. The dragon had cut her off.

" _Pretender_ ," the humanoid figure snarled, bringing Nani's attention back to him. His voice was deep, guttural, like a demon's laugh. "You toy with forces that are beyond your ken. _No more_."

The gears in her brain turned rapidly. Alexius had mentioned her being the mistake at the Temple, the one that foiled the Elder One's plans. Cole said he was coming for her. The scar on her left hand must've been his doing – and the conclave explosion as well.

He'd murdered the Divine. More than that, he'd put the entire world at risk. And _no one_ put Nani's family and clan at risk.

"I didn't _want_ to get sucked into the Fade and have a painful mark _seared into my skin_ ," Nani snapped back, spreading her legs just slightly in a fighting stance. "If you'll recall, I'm not the one who exploded a peace talk, either. You did this all _yourself_."

Where was Finn when she needed him? She wouldn't have minded a cheeky "Elder Bitch" comment to lighten the mood, remind her that she wasn't alone.

"Your memories fail you, _elf_ ," he sneered, glaring down at her like she was some putrid stain on the snow, begging to be wiped away. "You stumbled into something you did not understand and ruined it with your meddling. _You are a mistake_."

 _No, you're a mistake_ , Finn probably would've said. _Nothing that ugly should be allowed to exist. Have you seen a mirror? The reflection might kill you._

Imagining her brother's possible words comforted her, just a bit.

"Why do this?" she said, her hands clenching into fists, nails biting into her palms. "Why murder hundreds of people just to tear the sky to shreds? The Breach is gone. Sealed. And I'll seal two hundred more if I have to. You can't just end the world without opposition."

"You understand _nothing_." He glided a step closer; the dragon's breath stirred Nani's hair and raised her hackles. "Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are – what I was. Know me, know what you have pretended to be, for I do not seek to _destroy_ the world." He lifted a bony, clawed hand. "Exalt the Elder One. The _will_ that is Corypheus."

It hit her hard, like a slap to the face – like he'd said, he hadn't meant to destroy the world. If she was inferring correctly…he was insane enough to want to own it.

But, then, what was the purpose of the Breach? A scare tactic? She couldn't be quite sure.

" _You. Will. Kneel_ ," Corypheus ordered, raising his hand even further, as if he could telepathically compel her to drop to her knees and worship him.

As if she would.

The Dalish did not kneel to madmen. The Dalish did not break down and sink to their knees in front of certain doom. This was not the first time Nani had stared death in the face, either, and if she knew one thing, it was that a Dalish elf did not show fear in front of a predator. No matter what.

"I _will not_ bow," she spat, her lips pulling back into a snarl of sorts. The mark on her hand throbbed, flared green, sent shards of pain through her bloodstream – it hadn't been doing that for the past few days. She'd thought it had gotten better. Perhaps the close proximity to this Corypheus set it off again.

"Insolent creature." Corypheus lifted his other hand, and Nani spotted something clutched in it, but she couldn't quite deduce what it was. It appeared round from where she stood, circular grooves cut into its black, faintly shiny surface. "Your subservience does not matter to me. I am here for the Anchor, and the process of removing it begins now."

Before Nani could think about how ridiculously ominous that sounded, crackling red lines like lightning strikes appeared on the orb in Corypheus's hand, a cloud of pale red magic around it; Corypheus thrust his free hand forward, the same red magic jumping forth from his palm.

Nani's mark _exploded_.

Maybe not literally, but it felt as much – the pain was all fire, all burning acid in her palm. Her entire left arm trembled, as if given a life of its own, the green of her mark flaring brightly.

The agony was so blinding, so forceful, that her teeth knocked together. Her left hand was nearly writhing in front of her, and she clamped down on her wrist with her right hand, trying to stop it. She felt the strong compulsion to sink to her knees and press her face into the snow and scream, but she refused to, instead bending and pressing her hand into her belly. She held fast to her last semblances of sanity, her legs shaking so violently in their struggle to keep her upright that she thought they might snap.

"It is your fault, Herald," Corypheus said, his voice dripping with venom. "You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose."

She could barely see him; white spots were flashing in front of her eyes. But she ground her teeth together and refused to break.

His voice came again, a low rumble over the white-hot pain. "I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as 'touched', what you _flail_ at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens."

 _Hold on_ , she begged herself. _Hold on… Creators have mercy, I can't keep going much longer…_

"And you used the Anchor to undo my work?" His words were pure acid. "The _gall_."

Her legs trembled and knocked around beneath her, but she'd promised herself she would not kneel before him, and she would not.

All sorts of questions flashed through her mind like little pinpricks – the majority of them involving the word "why" – but she couldn't muster the strength to say them. Instead, she managed to spit out just three words:

"Fuck…your...work."

Finn would've been so proud of her.

That was the last coherent thought she had before Corypheus strode up to her, grasped her left wrist, and lifted her high in the air in front of him.

She was forced to dangle there, in the air, like a captured animal about to be flayed by a hunter. Her arm felt like it was about to rip out of its socket. But at least he'd stopped that horrendous spell, and aching as it was, at least her hand was beginning to recover. Even so, she almost would've preferred her previous state – hanging by one arm in front of Corypheus, her legs still and useless beneath her, was not the best outcome.

"Such bold words, with nothing behind them," Corypheus snarled, nearly in her face. "I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more." He hefted her higher, putting their eyes on the same level, and she resisted the urge to either shrink away or kick him in the face. "I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this Blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and _it was empty_."

So that was the reason for the Breach, for the disaster that had nearly plunged Thedas into destruction: Corypheus's crazed desire to creep physically back into the Beyond and turn himself into a god. The Breach hadn't been meant to pour demons into the world from the Beyond; it had been intended to get Corypheus _there_.

Nani choked down a pained noise, trying her hardest to keep her voice from cracking. "Am I supposed to be scared by that? By you saying the _shemlen_ god doesn't exist?"

She'd pushed him too far, with her reckless words. His eyes flashed, and he heaved his arm – and her – back, then threw her hard at the trebuchet.

Her body cracked into its wooden frame, her bones knocking together, her head jarring so hard that everything went black for a moment.

"The Anchor is permanent." Corypheus's voice permeated her dizziness, even as she strained to open her eyes and clear her head from where she lay at the foot of the trebuchet. "You have spoiled it with your stumbling. So be it; I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation – and God – it requires. As for you, little mortal… I will not suffer even an unknowing rival." He strode closer to where she lay, his dragon only feet behind him, steam puffing from the creature's nostrils. " _You will die_."

A choking noise bubbled up from Nani's throat as she planted her hands down and rose first to her hands and knees, then to her feet on unsteady legs.

"Maybe so," she forced out. Her teeth clenched. "But not by your hand."

She kicked the trebuchet's release, and it answered, flinging a heavy stone up onto the mountainside above them. And with a great shudder that rocked the earth beneath her, the avalanche began.


	22. Night Vigil

Finn really wanted to pace, but his busted ankle wouldn't allow him to.

One of the allied mages had known a crude healing spell, so she'd mended Finn's broken bones in his ankle and ribs as best she could, now that they were safely up the mountain. But it wasn't a perfect fix – he'd been given a stern warning to not put too much strain on his ankle unless he wanted to re-fracture it, which sadly included pacing.

So he sat against a tree trunk instead, separated from the group, staring at the swath of snow and rubble down the mountain where Haven had once been.

Chancellor Roderick's path had taken them up the mountain to this point, where the entire Inquisition had halted for the night with the intent of waiting for Nanyehi, Cassandra, Sera, and Blackwall to return. Only three of them had, just a little earlier that night, and none of them his little sister. "I couldn't find her," Cassandra had told them all sadly, her shoulders tight with tension, her skin scuffed and scraped. "Perhaps she performed a miracle, but…"

That was when Finn had left, stepping gingerly over to a patch of snow at the tree-line and sitting down by himself. People had thrown condolences and sympathies his way as he'd went; he'd ignored them, his palms clammy, his head spinning.

It had been an hour or so ago.

Now the sky was black as pine pitch, murky clouds obscuring the stars and moon. On nights like this, even the snow could barely be seen. But Finn could still see Haven's ruins down the mountain, and he kept his eyes fixed on it, remembering to blink every so often.

He was certain Nani hadn't died.

All logic pointed towards her death. The mountain had collapsed on Haven, burying it, very likely burying her alive. And yet he wouldn't believe it. He would have _felt_ if she'd died, felt her soul slip into the Beyond. He was sure of it. And yet everyone was mourning her loss where the Inquisition camps were, hugging, consoling each other on the loss of their Herald, and to Finn it just felt wrong.

To assume her dead was to lose faith in her. And he wouldn't.

The night air made him shiver slightly, but he didn't mind. Anything to keep him awake and vigilant. A sound caught his attention; he heard Solas's lithe footfalls before the other mage reached him.

"Mourning might be premature, Finirial," Solas said gently, holding out his palm and using a bright, misty globe of pale blue magic as a light. "I do not believe Nanyehi died in the avalanche. For that matter, neither does Cole. He is convinced he heard her thoughts not long ago."

Finn blew out a sharp breath. "I honestly don't think she did, either."

"Good. You are in tune with the Fade, _da'len_." Solas peered down the mountain, his keen eyes narrowed slightly.

" _Da'len?"_ Finn repeated. "I can't be that much younger than you are."

Solas chuckled. "You would be surprised."

They remained in silence for a moment, Finn focusing on keeping his breaths calm and collected.

"It's driving me insane that I can't go out and look for her," Finn admitted. "But I don't think she'd want me barreling down the mountain with a half-healed ankle. I'm sure she'd have a few choice words for me, actually."

"But someone should look," Solas said, agreeing with Finn's unspoken words. "I will go, _lethallin_. With any luck, I will be able to track her down. You must focus on your healing."

With that, not waiting for Finn's reply, Solas extinguished the light in his palm and slipped off into the darkness.

" _Ma serannas, 'ma falon_ ," Finn whispered after him.

His breath puffed out in front of his face, fogging heavily as it misted up towards the night sky. And he continued to sit there for quite a while, even when he heard the noises dying out at camp close by, heard everyone start putting cookware away and dousing fires and crawling into tents. Finn chanced a look over and saw that some were still sitting by one last fire, warming their hands – Cullen, Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine. They didn't seem to be getting ready for sleep, either. Finn smiled softly and turned away once more, looking down the mountain.

 _I know she's out there_ , he thought. The alternative was too painful to consider.

"There you are," Dorian said; Finn had been too distracted to hear him approach. "Still trying to be one with the snow? I can't imagine you're comfortable here."

"Are you coming to tell me you're sorry for Nani's death?" Finn said, looking up at him. "Don't be. Because I don't think she's gone. I think she survived."

"There is a chance, yes. Your sister is a tough little thing." Dorian sat cross-legged next to Finn, looking immensely uncomfortable in the snow. "But, no. I came to ask you if you're all right."

Finn laughed. "Me? Don't worry about me."

"Sarcasm?" Dorian guessed, lifting an eyebrow.

"No." Finn shook his head. "I don't want any focus on me. Really. I'm just waiting for…" For what? For Nani to drag herself up the mountain? For Solas to return with news? Either could have been an answer. Or maybe Finn was just too restless to sleep. "…for something to happen."

"Ah." Dorian rested a warm hand on Finn's shoulder, the pressure of it heavy and solid. Finn could still smell the smoke on him from the fireballs he'd slung around only a few hours ago.

They sat wordlessly for a little while. Then Dorian gave Finn's shoulder a squeeze, startling him.

"I heard you and your sister fighting, in the Chantry," he mentioned.

"Yeah. That." Finn pursed his lips, his short laughter nothing more than a quick breath through his nose. "I deserved to be chewed out, I think. Now that I'm sitting here going out of my mind, waiting for Nani to come back…I'm realizing how it must've been for her, watching me throw myself around in battle. And let me tell you – I wouldn't wish this feeling on anyone. Except that Elder Arsehole. I hope he loses his grandmother and has a good solid cry."

"With a name like _The Elder One_ , I'm certain his grandmother is already long dead," Dorian said. "But it wasn't just your sister you had worried."

"I know, I know." Finn rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I think Varric assumes he's my big brother."

Dorian snorted. "I wasn't speaking specifically of Varric."

"Solas?" Finn guessed. "He thinks he's my great-grandfather or something. I keep expecting him to come hobbling up to me with a cane and call me _sonny_. And to have all his teeth fall out. I wonder if he'd conjure up some magic Fade-teeth, or just talk with his gums. Is there a spell to replace teeth? Is that even a thing?"

" _That_ is a disturbing image," Dorian said. His hand skimmed down, palm flat, to rest between Finn's shoulder blades. "You have a wild imagination, Finn. But…no. I wasn't speaking of Solas, either."

"My bald apostate great-grandfather isn't worried about me?" Finn joked. When Dorian's hand remained on his back, as if a permanent fixture, Finn's heart flopped about like a dying fish. "That breaks my poor little heart."

"There is _no_ hope of normal conversation with you, is there?" Dorian teased, shaking his head. "But I suppose it doesn't matter. Regardless – are you going to be more careful?"

Finn nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. I will. I…hadn't realized I was putting people through pain, when all I was trying to do was take it from them. But I'll try not to leap into the loving arms of any massive monsters in the future. I promise."

"I can't say I'm not relieved," Dorian admitted.

"It drives a big hole in my nefarious plans to sneak away from camp and go sprinting down the mountain like a madman to look for Nani," Finn said. "But such is life." He ducked his head, sucking in a breath. " _Creators_. If I hadn't gotten my ankle broken, I could be doing that right now."

"Sweet Maker, not this again," Dorian said, shaking his head. "And you were off to such a good start! If you form any more nefarious plans, I'm going to throw you down the mountain myself."

"Might be helpful," Finn said.

"No." Dorian paused a moment; when Finn didn't say anything, he curved his arm around Finn and shook him slightly, for emphasis. "You could at least try to refrain from any more suicide missions."

Finn had to sit for a moment and think, to try to remember how to talk without making stupid, nonsensical noises; he hadn't expected Dorian to actually wrap an arm around him. Was this something friends did up north in Tevinter? He didn't exactly want to ask. Either way, it warmed him up and made him feel cozy, so he stayed as still as possible.

"I'm only kidding. I will. I made a promise." Finn chuckled, looking up at the sky; the clouds shifted above him, roiled dark grey, occasionally exposing the faint twinkling of a star. "So, about my exquisitely fired ice bolt earlier…when are you going to buy me that ale?"

"Ale." Dorian made a disgusted noise. "I can't believe we made the winner's purse _ale_. Here's a thought – you haven't ever tried wine, have you? I think it's high time you do. Such a sad existence, being forced to drink this loathsome dwarven swill you have down south." He smiled and squeezed Finn again, giving him another gentle shake. "I'll find a bottle for you."

" _Aww_. Such a giver," Finn said, grinning over at him. "Do friends normally spoil each other in Tevinter?"

Dorian laughed. "No, no. I'm making an exception for you."

"So…you aren't just going to go dungeon-crawling and wipe the dust off some nasty bottle you find in a dead guy's cellar? Because I'd still drink it."

"Please tell me you're not also the type to pick up old cheese off the ground and eat it," Dorian said, wrinkling his nose.

"Not unless it was _clean_ old cheese," Finn said. "Say, wrapped in cloth. Even I have standards."

"So I see." Dorian visibly shivered. "Aren't you freezing out here? It's getting late, and this weather is _miserable_. You should sleep."

"I should." Finn wouldn't argue that point; sleep would do his tired body and mending bones a great deal of good. "But I don't think I will. I wouldn't be able to sleep like this, anyway."

"Ah," Dorian said. "In that case, I'll keep you company."

Finn's glacial blue eyes widened a touch. "You…you don't have to do that. I'll be all right."

Goodness knew he could handle the cold, being an ice mage. With so much frost magic welling up from within his blood, coursing through his hands, he wouldn't have survived with a cold sensitivity. And as for his mental state, well… Finn would be an optimist until the end. If Solas came back alone – or, worse, with bad news – he might eventually believe his sister had died out there. Until then, though, he'd stubbornly believe she was tough enough to survive.

"Don't be silly." Dorian laughed lightly. "Of course I don't _have_ to."

No matter which way you sliced it…Finn could still take something positive from tonight. He could store away the memory of Dorian's arm around him for as long as he wanted.

"Thank you," Finn said sincerely. "I mean it. It's good to have some company right now."

Dorian just smiled.

"Sparkler," Varric called from several paces away, at the borders of camp; Dorian craned his head around to look and dropped the arm that had been around Finn. Apparently the dwarf hadn't fully retired to his tent. "How's Frosty holding up? Is he all right?"

"I can speak for myself, Varric," Finn said, rather missing the warmth of Dorian's arm. "It's all right. Don't worry about me."

"Now, now, don't be like that." Varric strode closer, lifting his feet high with each step so they'd clear the heavy snowdrifts. "I thought I'd check on you before I got some shut-eye. How're you holding up?"

"She's not dead," Finn insisted. Maybe if he said it enough times, it would ensure its truth.

"Could be true," Varric said. "If it helps any... I've seen Hawke survive worse. But that doesn't mean we can't worry about it, Frosty." Varric briefly thumped Finn on the shoulder, then turned around to return to camp. He paused, looking back. "We're here for you, all right?"

Finn smiled gently as Varric left. "I know."

He peered back at camp, silently thinking for a moment; Dorian didn't press him to speak. Finn suddenly thought about all those people lying in tents, staring at the ceilings, sobbing over their loved ones who they _had_ seen die back at Haven. In that regard, Finn was fortunate - he had no proof of Nani's death. But many of these people had been forced to leave behind the bodies of their husbands, their wives, siblings, children, friends... Sadness pricked at Finn, tightening his throat.

He opened his palm and summoned a soft ball of floating light. It was a vivid icy blue, much like his eyes, the way a mage's light often reflected the elements coursing through their blood.

" _Hahren na melana sahlin_ ," he said softly, looking up at the stars. " _Emma ir abelas_."

"Elvish?" Dorian guessed.

Finn nodded. "It's, uh... They're lyrics to a song. Since my singing voice sounds like someone choking an ox, I thought I'd just speak it." He cleared his throat. "To offer something back to those who died at Haven. I can do this another time, though, if it bothers you."

"Goodness, no." Dorian chuckled. "I'm enjoying listening to it. The words roll off your tongue rather nicely."

Finn's face flushed a little; he reminded himself to keep going. When he looked sideways he saw Dorian summon a similar ball of light, except his was a brilliant red.

" _Souver'inan isala hamin, vhenan him dor'felas, in uthenera na revas_ ," Finn continued. "Vir sulahn'nehn. Vir dirthera. Vir samahl la numin." Pausing, he lifted his hand. " _Vir lath sa'vunin_."

With a twitching of his fingers, he released the ball of magic into the air, the light shimmering like a cut crystal, twining upwards from his palm. Dorian lifted his own hand, and Finn watched the red light dance around the blue, until both of them dissolved into the night sky, their light and Finn's words fading into the Beyond.

"They looked lovely together, for just that moment," Dorian mentioned.

"Yeah." Finn looked down at the snow, breathing out a soft sigh. "They really did."


	23. Cry for the Moon

Nanyehi awoke to find herself half-buried by snow.

She had vague, shadowed memories of escaping the avalanche, of hauling herself partially up the mountain. But the pain had been too great, and she must have lost consciousness and collapsed in the snow. It bothered her greatly that she could barely recall this. Now she lay on her back, her arms spread-eagled beside her, her lower half completely submerged in a cold blanket of white. Little specks of snow fell all around her, dusting her face, and loose tendrils of hair clung wet to her cheeks and neck.

The sky was dark above her, dark and unforgiving, and so she relied on her elven eyes to see what others couldn't. Tall pines swayed in a chilled mountain wind all around her, and when she breathed deeply, she could smell their woodsy scent.

But breathing hurt. She groaned, pressing a hand to her side and feeling the uneven bumps of broken ribs.

When she sat up, her head spinning, pain lanced up from her left hip. She nearly cried out at the ferocity of it but stopped herself in time. The bones didn't _feel_ right; every instinct told her she'd dislocated that joint.

She took a shallow, shuddering breath. Then she braced herself and stood, her legs quaking beneath her.

With her teeth ground together, she took a step.

The cold bit into her armor, gnawing at her skin, making her teeth chatter no matter how hard she tried to press them together. Her injured hip barely supported the weight, but she took a second step, then a third, then a fourth, more and more and more, gaining as much forward momentum as she could as she made her shaky way up the mountain.

It was obvious, even in the darkness, where the Inquisition had come through. The snow beneath her was all churned up by brontos' feet and horses' hooves and people's boots. The wind coming down the mountain carried the slightest of smoky scents—campfires, no doubt. She couldn't hear much, but she knew at least she headed in the right direction.

She spread her arms out as she walked, keeping her balance when her legs would not. With every minute that passed the wind began to pick up, howling in her ears, buffeting her thin body with its cold force. Nani shivered and kept going, trying to ignore the pain in every step.

With the wind came sweeping flurries of snow, swirling around her, obscuring even her superior vision. Nani squinted, focusing on what she knew to be the top of the mountain, and placed one foot in front of the other, soldiering upwards.

Her lungs burned with the effort. Her throat was tight, her mouth parched.

Somewhere off in the distance, a wolf howled. Nani didn't even pause to try and pinpoint the animal's location—if she stopped moving, she was afraid she'd never be able to _start_ moving again. At some point during this she was forced to hold her hand in front of her eyes, just to prevent the bits of flying snow from blinding her.

Her head spun. She'd lost track of time, and nearly lost track of her direction.

The incessant pain was poison in her bloodstream. Nani's whole body trembled with the agony of it. _Corypheus_ , she recalled—the name had been burned into her mind like a brand. _He's the one who did this. He's the one who ripped a hole in the sky and tore Haven to the ground. Corypheus._

She would never forget that name as long as she lived.

Some time later, her exhausted legs gave way beneath her, and she collapsed to her knees in the snow, sucking in a strangled breath.

The wolf howled again, calling for the faint sliver of the moon above.

Nani blinked, panting, trying to keep herself conscious. Trying to keep herself alive. If she fainted now, she'd never make it up the mountain. She pressed her hands to her knees and remained there a moment, fighting a war with herself. Then a curious thing happened—as she stared at the blowing snow in front of her, it seemed to shift, take on life, morph into a misty, slender, humanoid form with pointed ears.

 _You're almost there, Nani_ , Finn's voice said, barely decipherable over the howling wind.

"Finn," Nani groaned, unsure of her own ears and eyes. The image of him ahead of her was much too incorporeal to be _him_ , and yet, she _heard_ … "Finn, what're you…"

 _Keep going_ , his voice urged her. His lilting Dalish accent, similar to her own, was warm, steady, and she focused on his voice. _I believe in you, even if you don't._

"Help me," she croaked, reaching a quivering hand forward. "I can't…"

 _You can_ , _Nani_. _You have to get up. You have to keep going._

She bit down on the inside of her cheek, wondering why he didn't come to her and help her up, wondering why he kept such a distance, until she realized—he wasn't here at all. No, indeed, the ethereal image in the shifting snow wasn't even there, not when she focused on it, and the strength of his voice faded from her ears when she concentrated.

Her dying mind had hallucinated him.

Nani collapsed forward in the snow, giving up, just barely keeping her chin above it.

She knew she was close to death if her mind had already begun to betray her like this. Of _course_ it had conjured up Finn, and no one else; her brother had been the one to raise her when their parents were gone, to be that steady presence at her side, to make her smile when nothing else and no one else could. She wondered when—if—she'd be able to break her dependence on him, do something by her own raw strength alone.

Maybe she could start now.

This was what Corypheus wanted—for her to break down and die in the snow, for the Inquisition to fail, for the green anchor that foiled all his plans to dissolve into nothingness along with the rest of her. And with anger curling around her heart like a thorny vine, she grunted, jammed her hands down, and made herself stand.

One more step.

Then another.

Then another.

The wolf howled once more.

As Nani crept her way up the mountain, lifting each foot as high as she could to step over the mounding snowdrifts, she saw a pair of blue lupine eyes watching her from the darkness ahead, flashing iridescent green with each shift the way her own eyes did. Determined, she kept stepping forward, even as the pair of eyes disappeared into the shadows. She was fairly certain the wolf was about to circle around her and take her down from the side.

She'd fight. She'd use her bare hands. She had to.

The images shifted in front of her again, and Solas stepped into view, his blue eyes fixed on her.

"No," she gasped, fighting against her mind's betrayal. She would not succumb to these visions and to her own exhaustion and die here. "You're…not real…either…"

"You are safe, _lethallan_ ," he said, stepping closer, his voice so crisp and strong in her ears, and when he took her left elbow to steady her, he _felt_ real too. She only had a moment to note how incredibly vivid this hallucination was before Solas craned his head up and shouted something up the mountain in elvish, something Nani couldn't understand because she'd never studied it like Finn had, and then there was Finn's voice, answering in elvish from not far away, _real_ …

"It's Nanyehi!" someone yelled, a man's voice, and Nani saw Cullen emerge from the darkness, followed by Cassandra, Leliana a few paces behind them.

Nani squinted. _How_ …

But there was Cullen, his armor glinting in the faint light of the moon, surging forward to catch her as she began to collapse to her knees, even with Solas's hand supporting her arm. Her curved his arms around her, under her, lifting her off the snow like a man would lift his sleeping child, and Nani felt the warmth of his body even through the hard metal of his armor, felt the solid strength of his arms.

"You're…real," she mumbled, her tired muscles giving out, her head thumping against his shoulder.

"She's badly injured, Cassandra," Cullen said, carrying her, and she closed her eyes and felt the rhythm of his walk. "Rouse that mage who knows some healing from her sleep. If we don't do something, we could lose Nanyehi."

"I'm…safe," Nani said, dumbfounded, her words quivering, even as Cassandra's footfalls crunched away in the snow.

"You're safe," Cullen repeated, holding her tighter. "We won't let you die. _I_ won't let you die."

She believed him.


	24. Fire and Ice

Nani had been asleep in the tent all day.

Finn could sympathize—he knew personally how potent healing magic was, how it could knock you out cold for days on end and make you hallucinate like nobody's business. He actually found himself in a good mood as night neared and the sky roiled dusky above; Nani's prognosis was favorable, and even though they were all stranded on a snowy, desolate mountain, they were all _together_.

He'd been in and out of the tent, checking on her, but she didn't wake. It was for the best, quite honestly. Rest would heal her faster than mindless chatter with him would. Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine had been keeping an eye on her as it was, so Finn wasn't exactly needed. The last time he'd gone in, Cassandra had actually shooed him out—"she senses you're here," the warmaiden had said, "and it's going to wake her up. She needs _rest_. If she does wake, I'll let you know."

For Nani's own good, he'd left the tent alone after that.

People were still milling about the Inquisition camp, restless and agitated, many of them looking up or down the mountain periodically as if their current altitude was the absolute _worst_ to be at. He knew they were anxious to get a move on—they were probably worried about the Elder One tracking them all down, seeing as they really were sitting ducks up here. Very likely, though, Nani's perceived death in the avalanche had bought them some time to get clear of Haven's ruins and find somewhere more fortified.

There wasn't much anyone could do at the moment. And Finn didn't like wringing his hands together and agonizing over something he couldn't do anything about; instead, he found Iron Bull and his band of Chargers sitting around a firepit and sharing a drink, and he joined them, sitting cross-legged in the snow. Blackwall and Sera were sitting with them as well, snickering about beards or something—Finn couldn't quite hear—and he spotted Varric's shorter form next to Blackwall, although the dwarf was too engrossed in writing a letter to chatter about facial hair.

"Hey, Finn!" Bull said, lifting up his flagon in greeting. "Get the man a drink, Krem."

"Sure thing, chief," the short-haired warrior next to Bull said, pouring some dark golden liquid into a flagon and passing it over to Finn.

"Thank you," Finn said, taking a long pull from the flagon; it tasted sweet, almost, with the slightest of tangs, like a wine. "Is this mead?"

"Chasind sack mead," Krem answered proudly, clinking his own flagon against Finn's. "Had a barrel sitting with us from some highwaymen we killed a while back. Figured we didn't want to keep lugging this thing up the mountain."

"You could always strap it to Bull's horns," Finn tried, chuckling. "Might be a perfect fit."

"Start with one thing," Bull said, "and soon enough, I'm carrying the entire Inquisition up the mountain."

"You keep trying to carry them elves," Sera reminded him, briefly looking up.

"Us elves?" Finn corrected.

Sera stuck her tongue out.

"I keep trying to _throw_ you elves," Bull said with a grin, turning his one good eye to Finn. "Say, didn't you promise me I could throw you once we came upon an enemy? We've fought a crapload of things now, and I still haven't gotten my elf-grenade."

"Not with this, you won't," Finn said with a shrug, patting his busted ankle, which felt a little better but still couldn't handle too much force. "I'll keep up my end of the bargain, though. Someday, Bull. Someday."

"Every time I approach you, you're getting into some sort of hare-brained scheme," Dorian teased from behind Finn, coming closer, then sitting cross-legged on Finn's left and resting his hands on his knees. "What's next? Joining a crew of Rivaini pirates?"

Finn smiled over at him. "That sounds fun. You think I'd fit into one of their cannons? Then they could fire a flying mage at one of the other ships. Pure destruction."

"Now I'm thinking of chucking you off the ship myself," Dorian said.

Krem handed Dorian a flagon of mead; Finn didn't miss that Dorian wrinkled his nose when he first took a drag of it, but apparently it was decent enough, seeing as Dorian didn't immediately fling it halfway across camp.

"I think I have first dibs on throwing Finn, pretty-boy," Bull reminded Dorian, clearing his throat.

"Maker knows I'm not about to get into a petty argument about flinging someone," Dorian said back, his normally smooth voice roughening around the edges. "Just try not to dash him to pieces on a rock or anything."

"Trust me," Bull said, lowering his voice a touch, "I'll take care of him."

There must've been some hidden meaning in Bull's statement that Finn hadn't caught—for a split second, white-hot sparks danced across Dorian's hands. They died away instantly, and it seemed Finn was the only one who'd noticed them. Bull returned to ribbing Krem about something, to which Krem laughed and fired back, and Finn took another drag of mead. He watched the brilliant flames in the firepit lick towards the darkening sky in front of him, tiny bits of ash spurting upwards and floating along the breeze. The fire warmed him, and he breathed in the smell of wooden smoke, feeling a little bit nostalgic.

"How's your sister, Finn?" Dorian asked him after a few minutes.

"Resting." Finn smiled softly, blinking; he felt a little buzzed from the sack mead. "She's hurt, but she's going to make it just fine, the healer says. I'm really happy she's safe now."

"As are we all, I imagine," Dorian said. "And yourself? How's the ankle coming along?"

"Fine and dandy," Finn said, twisting said ankle back and forth to gently stretch the strained ligaments. "Ribs are healing up nice, too, I'd wager. How's the bruised ego?"

Dorian raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"You're drinking Fereldan booze," Finn said, gesturing to his flagon. "That's bound to do some damage to your noble Tevinter psyche."

"My _noble Tevinter psyche_ is fainting in horror at the use of the word booze," Dorian needled him, one corner of his mouth tweaking in a grin.

Finn rested his forearm good-naturedly on Dorian's shoulder. "See, the more you listen to my heathen words, the more you get _used_ to them. Soon enough, you might start throwing around crass profanities like nobody's business."

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Dorian said with a laugh.

Finn really did love listening to his laugh—it was heartier than when they'd first met, warmer, and more often Dorian had that happy, electric spark to his timberwolf-grey eyes. He found himself staring yet again, and he shook his head violently. Bad move: the mead had started to fizz up his mind a bit. Finn swayed where he sat, using Dorian's shoulder to brace himself.

"Your training begins now," Finn said, looking at Dorian once again. "Say it with me— _Finn, you're a shithead_."

"Finn Lavellan, you are a chronically oblivious ignoramus," Dorian said, smirking.

Finn snorted. "See, sometimes I need a translator just to talk to you. Let's try this again. I'll use one of my ultimate favorites— _fuck a bucket_."

Dorian was almost on the verge of laughter now, but he was doing a decent job of keeping himself composed. "Perform intercourse with a canister."

"No one shouts that during battle," Finn said, taking a swig of mead and nearly choking on it. " _No one_."

"What was that about sex with a canister, Sparkler?" Varric asked, looking up from his quill and parchment. "Are you getting lonely, so far away from home?"

"Hardly," Dorian huffed.

Finn just laughed, and accidentally spilled a bit of mead in the snow.

Dorian looked over at him, giving him a skeptical expression.

"I…might need to take a walk and get some fresh air away from the fire," Finn realized, setting down his flagon, which he noticed was empty. He stood slowly, clearing his throat. "Whew. That's some strong mead."

"Go on, then," Dorian said, standing. "I'll join you. I've had enough, myself."

* * *

Finn rested his hands lightly on his hipbones as he walked, stepping over a fallen tree branch jutting out of the soft white snow and taking a deep, calming breath.

"Bit of a lightweight?" Dorian asked from behind him, his steps heavier in the snow; Finn, Dalish as he was, had perfected the art of treading silently when he wanted to. Having only cloth wrapping around the arch of each foot helped.

"A bit," Finn said, stopping and looking around. The trees were sparse here, so high up on the mountain as they were, but the fresh smell of pine and the lighter, crystalline scent of new snow filled his nose, and he breathed in deeply, trying to clear his head. When he looked back, he realized he'd crested a high snowdrift and couldn't quite see the camp any longer.

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at Finn, giving him a crooked smile. "I take it you hadn't intended to drink that much."

"No." Finn laughed. "I hadn't expected Bull's mead to be so strong. But really. That shit is _good_."

Dorian rolled his eyes, obviously trying to contain his amusement and failing miserably. "They should really write that testimonial on the bottle. _This shit is good_. Could you imagine how many more people would drink it, with that kind of glowing review? We'd have drunkards everywhere."

Finn rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. "You know, if you're that bothered by my barbarian language, you could always go talk to Madame Vivienne."

"Bothered? Goodness, no." Dorian's eyebrows lifted. "Moreover, why would I subject myself to classy Orlesian insults when I can listen to an inebriated elf critique his drinks instead? I will agree, though, that it wasn't as terrible as I'd anticipated. Look at me…sitting on a mountainside and drinking southern swill—my parents would be mortified." He let out a short laugh. "You southerners and your customs get under the skin."

"It's a talent," Finn said. "We grow on people. We're like mold."

"Some of you more than others," Dorian said.

"So some of us are more _parasitic_ than others, is what you're saying," Finn said, chuckling. "Wonderful. I hope it's not me, or else that might ruin such a perfect day."

"Perfect?" Dorian repeated. "Did you by any chance miss the part where this Elder One razed Haven to the ground and reduced the entire Inquisition to sad mountain hobos? Or is this you being sarcastic again? I can never tell sometimes."

"What's to be sad about? We're all alive. Nani made it up the mountain in one piece. She's going to recover. I couldn't give a mule's arse about being stuck up here. Yeah, Haven was a disaster, and yeah, I feel really badly for the people who lost loved ones there, but at the same time…I'm just really, _really_ happy that my sister made it out alive." Finn smiled. "Things just feel like they're going to turn out all right."

"You really do find that silver lining in everything, don't you?" Dorian said, his expression soft.

"I try," Finn said, shrugging. "I'm sure there are people out there who find optimism annoying, but they can go fall into a coal mine. Or be shoved into a coal mine."

"Ah, petty violence," Dorian said with mock exasperation. "Adorable."

Finn raised one eyebrow.

Based on his own prior experience, based on the fact that he'd been burned before—not literally, thank goodness—when it came to the messy business of flirting and feelings and whatnot, Finn _usually_ tried to assume that casual flirtation was just that: casual. Rarely did Finn ever see feelings reciprocated, Creators forbid. But the fact that Dorian kept paying attention to him and saying things like that…it was confusing Finn to no end.

He could feel the blood rushing hot through his veins now, and he clicked his teeth together, trying to keep himself under control. He wasn't _drunk_ , not at all, not anymore, but any amount of lowered inhibitions could make him do something he'd later have to apologize profusely for.

"You didn't have to walk with me," Finn reminded him. "Wouldn't you rather be sitting back at camp with the others?"

"I'd rather watch you to make sure you don't collapse face-first in the snow and suffocate yourself," Dorian said instead.

Naturally, Finn's mind fixated on the words _watch you_ , and he shook his head to clear it. "I'm not _that_ affected, Dorian."

" _The drunk elf said with a drunken flourish_ ," Dorian teased.

Finn snickered at that. "Now you sound like Varric."

"Maker forbid. The last creature I'd want to mimic is the dwarf." Dorian chuckled and lowered his head briefly, then returned to looking at Finn. "What would you prefer, then? Would you rather I stand here and silently watch you? I certainly wouldn't protest such a fate."

There it was again. That teasing, slightly provocative tone to Dorian's voice, a spark of intensity in his grey eyes. This time Finn knew he hadn't misheard. And the residual mead was suppressing his usual nerves, making his pulse pound in his ears.

"Why don't you stand _here_ ," Finn said, planting a hand flat on Dorian's chest and backing him against one of the surrounding tree trunks, "and stop dancing around the proverbial bush, because if you're trying to subtly tell me something, we both know I will never catch on."

" _Beating_ around the proverbial bush?" Dorian corrected. His eyes flickered down to Finn's hand, trailing slowly and deliberately up his arm until they locked gazes once more. His mouth quirked into a smirk. "Hmm. You should really show your strength more often."

Finn's hand twitched on Dorian's chest, feeling the strong thumps of Dorian's heartbeat, aching to travel where it shouldn't.

"And then you go and do it again," Finn said. He didn't have the willpower to move his hand away. His skin burned. "Is flirting a common pastime in Tevinter? And why did I end up the target? Is it your goal to get me all hot and bothered and use it as an ego boost? Because you're having a grand old time confusing me, and I'm _trying_ not to get the wrong impression, but you keep saying things like that and paying attention to me and you're _fucking hot_ , and I'm making a massive fool out of myself, and I should really stop talking—"

Dorian grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him around so his back was against the roughened bark of the tree, and leaned down to kiss him soundly on the mouth.

Briefly, very briefly, Finn considered pulling away and smacking himself in the face to verify that this wasn't the start of one of those erotic dreams he'd been having lately.

But no—no need to ruin a good thing.

Baffled as he was, it only took Finn a moment or two to wise up and lean into the kissing, stepping up onto Dorian's boots to even out their heights. Dorian's fingers clenched into the sides of Finn's tunic, twisting the fabric and yanking Finn's hips against his. Finn pressed both of his palms flat to Dorian's chest, unabashedly groping the muscles there.

He didn't know how long they stood like this—kissing, pressed together, chests heaving—he only knew when Dorian finally pulled away with an affectionate smile that very nearly burst Finn into flames and melted him into a puddle of elven goo in the snow.

He blinked, trying to form the right words, _anything_ , trying to sound like he had an intelligent grasp of the current situation, and ended up with a breathy " _hnnnnh_."

That sent Dorian into a fresh round of laughter.

"Use your words, Finn," he teased, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.

"That… _how?_ " Finn sputtered, stepping off Dorian's boots. "You weren't just toying with me? You _actually_ fancy men?" He raised a hand and roughly patted himself on the cheek. "I _think_ I'm awake…"

"I take it that demonstration was enough to clue you in," Dorian said, resting his hands on Finn's shoulders. "Or, at least, I'm hoping. You can't possibly be _that_ dense."

"And there you go, ruining the mood," Finn said, snorting. "Such a charmer. I am positively _quivering_ in my petticoats, Master Pavus."

Dorian rolled his eyes. "Petticoats. I've truly heard it all."

"You know what?" Finn lifted his chin in a challenging expression. "I'm going to play dumb. I think I need more evidence from you."

"Is that so?" Dorian chuckled, his eyes darker than usual, and pushed Finn back a little harder against the tree, leaning down to kiss him once more.

This time his mouth was harder against Finn's, his fingers threading through Finn's hair and tangling it. Finn tilted his head back and groaned when Dorian kissed roughly down his throat and back up, ending with his teeth scraping just beneath Finn's jaw. And when both of them pulled away this time, it was with a great deal of reluctance.

"I, uh…" Finn took a less than steady breath. "I think I have no choice but to believe you, at this point."

Dorian snorted, giving Finn one last quick kiss on the mouth before he took a step back. "You're a strange one."

"As advertised," Finn said. "So…what does this mean, exactly?"

Maybe that was a dumb question to ask. But Finn felt the need to clarify. If there was one thing he knew about himself, it was that he got attached easily, and if Dorian wasn't the type to appreciate Finn's attachment, well…better to know now.

"I don't know," Dorian said with a sigh. "And that's my honest answer. I really hadn't considered past what just happened."

Finn frowned slightly. "Are you…willing to see where it goes, though?"

Dorian's answering smile was soft, if a bit unsure of himself. "I'd like to."

Finn smiled broadly in return.


	25. Journey's End, Journey's Beginning

Nani sat with her feet hanging over the edge of the cot, dragging a hand through her scraggly bun—sweat and dirt and residual snow had tangled her hair beyond belief. She probably looked like a complete wreck, but at this point, who cared? She pursed her lips and breathed out roughly through them.

"Take your time, Nanyehi," Cassandra said gently, watching her with cautious brown eyes.

Nani attempted a smile up at the Seeker, only for her head to spin dangerously; she braced a hand on the cot and took another deep breath, steadying herself. Healing magic was no joke, especially _apprentice_ healing magic, when the mage hadn't fully mastered the right amount to pour into one's body. Still, she couldn't _not_ appreciate what the mage had done—and the fact that she was here, in the tent, and not a snow-covered corpse on the mountainside.

"How long was I asleep for?" Nani asked Cassandra.

"Almost a day," Cassandra said, resting a hand on the pommel of her longsword; it seemed she always had the weapon equipped, no matter the occasion. "It is late evening now. You sustained severe injuries. That you made it up the mountain is…astounding."

"I couldn't just stop trying—" she started, stopping herself; she _had_ given up out of sheer exhaustion, for just a moment, after she'd hallucinated Finn.

Speaking of…

"Where's Finn?" she asked, chewing at the inside of her cheek. The last words she'd said to him had been angry ones, and she didn't want him to think she was really that angry at him. More so terrified, sick with worry, nauseated by the sight of her brother being tossed across the battlefield like he weighed little more than a piece of parchment.

Cassandra gave her a placating look. "He is well. I can get him, if you'd like."

She opened her mouth to say _yeah, I need to see him_ , but was interrupted by the tent flap folding open and someone pushing inside.

"You're awake." Cullen noticed her sitting up immediately, stooping a little to fit inside the tent; he really was tall, wasn't he? "Thank the Maker. You had us all in a panic."

Her brain took this moment to remind her that she likely did look like a sweat-covered mess, and she inwardly cursed herself for such an ill-timed thought, the tips of her fingers tingling. She squeezed her hands into fists a couple of times, in and out, to try and relieve the odd sensation.

"I…I'm all right now," she reassured him, coughing into her hands.

Cullen gave her a look that distinctly said _you-don't-sound-alright_  before turning briefly to Cassandra. "I came to relieve you, Lady Cassandra. I'm sure you want a break."

"There's no need," Cassandra said quickly. Then she eyed the two of them, and something dawned in her eyes, confusing Nani to no end. "On second thought, I have some matters to discuss with Josephine. Take care, Commander." With that, she left the tent, the flap slapping shut behind her.

Nani didn't speak for a moment. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap and wrung them together.

"It's kind of you to watch me," she said after a bit.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked, shaking his head. He pulled his gloved fingers through his thick blond hair and came to stand a little closer, his gaze soft. "We've been taking turns, making sure the healing magic in your blood wasn't too much." His voice roughened a touch. "How did you escape the avalanche, Nanyehi? That should have _killed_ you."

"I don't remember," she confessed, scrubbing at her scalp. "I only remember waking up halfway up the mountain."

And Cullen scooping her up, enveloping her in his warmth. She remembered _that_. Her throat tightened a little, and she decided not to attempt speech, lest she end up with an embarrassing squeak coming out instead.

"With any luck, this Elder One died in the avalanche," Cullen said.

Nani shook her head. "His dragon pulled him out. Corypheus escaped."

Cullen growled softly under his breath, obviously angry about her news. But then… "Corypheus? You learned his name?"

Nani nodded, telling him what else she'd learned—that this Corypheus had accidentally seared the green mark, the Anchor, into her hand in a failed ritual to open up the Beyond and step into it, that he was immensely old, that he was likely one of the original Tevinter magisters to breach the Beyond and spoil it past repair, that he'd been obsessed with her bowing before him like a servant might. When she finished, she felt the last vestiges of anger clawing at her insides, twisting her gut, tightening her muscles.

Cullen's face had steadily whitened while she recanted this.

"He _cannot_ get away with this," the warrior said firmly, startling her. "All of those people we lost in Haven…and the people we _could_ have lost… Once we find somewhere more fortified, we must amass troops and take him down."

"I couldn't agree more," Nani said. Her fingers ached for her bow, ached to pull the string taut and fire an arrow right through one of Corypheus's soul-sucking eyes.

"If I may…" Cullen sat gingerly next to her on the cot. "I should ask you how you're feeling. You did face down a glorified darkspawn and collapse a mountain on top of yourself, after all."

"I'll live," Nani said. "I'm feeling much better, as it is."

"Are you?" Cullen didn't look so certain; he reached a hand over and gently, very gently, brushed a tangled bit of hair off her cheek. "Maker's breath. You're as strong as you are beautiful."

Heat flooded Nani's face. She nearly choked on her own saliva.

"Forgive me," Cullen said, standing; the cot creaked as his weight left it. "That was…bold."

"You'd only need forgiveness if I _didn't_ like the comment," Nani said, surprised by the boldness in her own voice. She stared down at her hands, linking her fingers together.

"So I see." Cullen chuckled a little, startling her. Then he lowered a hand to her, palm-up, offering his help to stand. "I think everyone's waiting for a glimpse of you."

Nani didn't question it—no doubt people were wondering if she'd come up the mountain missing two limbs or something. She couldn't hold curiosity against them. Taking Cullen's hand, she stood, following him out of the tent.

The sky was dark, snowy ground glowing faintly in the light of the moon. Nani held on to the crook of Cullen's arm to help herself walk, which he seemed happy to provide. She heard squabbling around her, restless noise from restless people—but gradually, as everyone began to notice her, the arguments died down. Then there came different words: _Maker bless you_ and _there's the Herald_ and _she lives!_ People all over were staring at her, enraptured, and the green Anchor on her left palm quivered faintly with iridescence in response.

So many eyes on her. Nani almost shrunk away, but stopped herself.

These were trusting eyes, not suspicious ones. These weren't treacherous _shems_ waiting to take down the savage elf; these were frightened people stranded on the side of a mountain, looking to the woman who had torn down a mountainside and prevented a monster from coming after them. This was hope, not malcontent.

And she smiled.

* * *

Finn smiled and wrapped an arm around Nanyehi where they sat side-by-side in the snow, holding her close against him.

She'd approached him shortly after he'd returned from his walk with Dorian, who'd expressed his enthusiasm about seeing her walking and left them both with a mischievous "I'll let you have your brother, for now…but I _do_ expect him returned shortly." Nani had seemed much too exhausted to catch on to anything, which Finn was grateful for.

He knew she wouldn't judge him for his apparently reciprocated feelings. For crying out loud, she'd been the one to hold him together when he'd had an inner crisis over developing feelings for another man in their clan. But Finn wasn't one for public demonstrations—not to mention he didn't want to push Dorian too far—and so Nani not noticing was a teeny tiny blessing.

"Look at us both," he said, squeezing her. "We're not dead, we've got all our limbs, and we even kept our nice elfy faces intact." He lifted a hand and flipped a bird down the mountain at nothing in particular. "Eat a dick, Corypheus."

" _There's_ an image," Nani snorted.

She snuggled a little tighter, leaning her cheek against his shoulder, and he smiled.

"I…left things on a bad note," she said after a moment of quiet. He could _hear_ her frowning, almost. "I'm sorry for causing a scene in the Chantry, Finnie. I just…when I saw you get blown aside by that _thing_ , I…"

"It's all right," Finn reassured her. "It's over now."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes. Finn's gaze traced the smooth curve of the moon above him, his ears picking up the sounds of people packing up their belongings for the night. It was almost bizarre, the juxtaposition of this night to the last one—now, instead of holding vigil on the mountainside with Dorian, waiting urgently for a sign his sister was alive, he could watch the twinkling stars and the swaying pines and marvel that she had survived.

"What would the keeper say, about all this?" Nani wondered aloud. "I remember she wasn't exactly thrilled about you accompanying me."

"I'll make a guess," Finn said. He cleared his throat, trying to lift his voice to mimic Keeper Istimaethoriel. " _Finirial Lavellan, I have spent years training you to be Keeper in my stead when the time comes, and I've had enough of your dangerous ways. Go sit in the corner and meditate on halla_."

"You never meditated on halla," Nani said, snickering.

"That you know of," Finn said. "I'll have you know I once meditated on the thought of steak instead of Falon'din during a particularly hungry morning."

"And the Keeper didn't notice?"

"Only when I started drooling."

Nani laughed, patting his knee.

"So," Finn said, "what comes now? We can't stay on the mountain forever. I mean, we could, but Dorian? He's about to wilt, I swear. He was never meant for life as a sad mountain hobo. And Varric's chest hair needs a proper comb."

Nani hummed in thought. "Solas pulled me aside just a minute ago and told me there's a ruin he's thinking of to the north that we should lead the Inquisition towards," she said. "Or, rather, I should. Everyone's been watching me, waiting for me to get them to safety. It's a little stressful, honestly."

"I can imagine," Finn said. "You'll do fine. I know it."

"You know…" Nani said. "It sounds crazy, but…I'm actually starting to believe you."

* * *

The Inquisition had been trekking up the mountain for _days_ now.

Finn caught sight of Nani up ahead every so often, scouting for them, pointing the entire entourage in the correct direction. He shielded his eyes from the sun with a hand, listening to the soft rustling and clinking of his armor as he trudged through the thick snow.

"Coryphy-shit," Sera said from next to him, her boots making shallow impressions in the snowdrifts. "Coryphy-twat? Coryphenis?"

She'd been attempting to find a better name for their Tevinter nemesis for the last several minutes now. Finn had been listening in amusement—so had Dorian, next to him, and Varric, a few paces behind.

"Coryphy-fish," she said.

Finn snorted. "No one's come up with Coryphe _arse_ yet? It's practically the same name."

"I am bursting with pride at your creativity," Dorian said, thumping Finn's shoulder.

Finn smiled, relishing the warmth of Dorian's touch. The other mage seemed a little freer with his touching Finn, now—as he should be, really. But it solidified in Finn's (admittedly worried) head that one, that night hadn't been a figment of his imagination, and two, Dorian hadn't flung his hands in the air and backed out of their tentative relationship just yet.

It could still happen, he supposed. But he found himself desperately hoping it wouldn't.

"Coryphe-arse!" Sera repeated, smiling brilliantly. " _Ooooh_ , that's _good_. You're a right _treasure_ , Finnie." Cackling, she left him, jogging more towards the front of the pilgrimage to probably inform someone else of Finn's findings.

"Did you hear that?" Finn said, grinning over at Dorian. "I'm a treasure."

"That you are," Dorian said with a bright smile.

"Don't let it go to your head, Frosty," Varric said from behind him. "I don't want to be around when your ego swells so big that it explodes you all over the mountain." He paused, whistling. "Chapter twenty-five of _The Insane Life of Finirial Lavellan_. The elf becomes too proud of himself and turns into a walking bomb. Several who were caught in the blast radius died. Others sustained injuries."

"That was both disgusting _and_ morbid," Finn threw back at Varric.

"Not to mention a rather poor choice of plots," Dorian added. "I certainly wouldn't keep reading after the protagonist detonated in such a manner."

"Like you know how to write a book," Varric said, laughing. "The only one you own is probably _How to Groom Your Moustache_."

"Which wouldn't be very useful for _you_ , I imagine," Dorian said. "The one nearly hairless dwarf in all of Thedas."

"It's all right here, baby," Varric said.

Finn heard the distinct snapping of buttons coming undone; he briefly looked behind him to see Varric patting his thick chest hair and smiling deviously.

"…he's fondling his own chest, isn't he?" Dorian asked Finn.

"Lovingly," Finn said, turning back to face where he was walking after a moment more of looking. "It's almost…mesmerizing. In a way."

"Wonderful," Dorian said, grinning wryly.

"I'll leave you two alone," Varric said with a chuckle low in his throat. "I think I see Tiny trying to throw one of his Chargers. I _have_ to witness this." His boot steps faded away as he dropped back to chat with Bull, leaving Finn and Dorian walking side-by-side by themselves.

Finn briefly caught a glimpse of Nani up ahead, scrambling onto a rock and checking out the scenery before her. Then she disappeared again, and he stopped trying to look for her, enjoying the scenery instead. It was lovely up here on the mountain, with the vast blue dome of sky, the slightest wisps of light grey clouds, the snow bright and white beneath his feet. The cold air danced over his skin, invigorating him, making him feel alive.

"You're grinning again," Dorian commented. "Something you'd care to share?"

"Just happy," Finn said, smiling a little wider.

Without warning Dorian slung one arm around his shoulders, reeled him in close to his side as they walked, and plopped a quick kiss on his forehead.

Finn's face reddened slightly, and he staggered, grabbing onto Dorian's armor to keep him upright.

The Tevinter mage hadn't been that demonstrative before today, and certainly not in front of anyone. But with each passing day he seemed to get more and more willing to show affection, which Finn absolutely was not going to protest. It made him a little nervous, truth be told, wondering what people would say about him…but he found himself hardly caring right this minute.

No one had commented on them, not yet, at the very least. Finn knew the comments would roll in eventually. Oh well.

"And now you're tripping," Dorian said, trying to hold back a chuckle without success. "Is someone a little bashful today?"

"Just thrown off balance," Finn said, shrugging. He stumbled again, his foot catching on an unforeseen rock hidden beneath the snow, but Dorian's arm kept him from careening face-first to the ground. He smiled halfway. "I should probably give my ankle a break. And _no_ , I don't want to be tossed over your shoulder again, thank you very much."

"I'm sure there are other, more pleasant ways to be carried."

"True. Hold still." Finn left Dorian's side and crossed around to his back, then made a leap and flung his legs around Dorian's middle from behind, holding onto his shoulders. "Like this."

"Fair enough." Dorian snorted and started walking again, cupping his hands under Finn's lower thighs to keep him in place. "Shall I make appropriate equine noises for you?"

"That won't be necessary." Finn laughed, feeling the chilled mountain breeze ruffle his ice-white hair.

"Hmm…your sister seems to have noticed something," Dorian said.

Finn looked up the slope and spotted Nani standing on a boulder, her long red hair rippling in the wind. She motioned excitedly to Solas and pointed, and Solas joined her on the boulder, pressing the butt of his staff against the rock. People around them began to murmur excitedly, obviously wondering what she'd discovered.

Dorian lengthened his stride the remainder of the snowy slope, hardly even winded as he reached the boulder Nani and Solas were standing on. People were beginning to clump around them, and Dorian edged past them; they parted for him, thankfully, probably made uneasy by the Vint carrying the lunatic elf. He stepped up onto the flat boulder, and Finn gave a sharp intake of breath.

In front of him, nestled into the mountainside, was a massive stone fortress, still holding strong even though the elements battered relentlessly against it. He could see the proud battlements even from where they stood, the thin bridge leading through the gates, a speck of mottled green that might have been a courtyard. A keep rose high in the middle, surrounded by other stone buildings; Finn's keen eyes saw some crumbling of the walls, but most of them were intact, as grey as a the sky after a fierce rain.

"Skyhold," Solas said, his stormy blue gaze fixed upon it.

"Skyhold," Nani repeated, her voice soft, in awe.

 _There it is_ , Finn thought, beaming, holding on to Dorian's shoulders a little tighter. _Something defensible. Something we can actually settle down in._

Home.


	26. Where the Earth Touches the Sky

Even a week later, Finn still hadn't fully adjusted to Skyhold.

A moment ago, he'd come across Josephine bustling through the main hall, stepping over a stray piece of broken wood and looking harried; once asked what the matter was, she'd said the amount of repairs Skyhold needed was beyond overwhelming. Then she'd smoothed her expression over and asked if Finn would like to see some of the completed repairs—Finn had agreed on the spot, sensing her need to have someone to talk to.

At present, she led him through Skyhold's upper grounds; Finn gingerly stepped around a muddy puddle in the middle of the cold, moist grass.

"If you haven't visited yet, the new tavern is there," she said, pointing; Finn looked over at the grey stone building, catching muted strain's of a minstrel's singing inside. "We just finished _those_ repairs yesterday, thank the Maker—everyone has been clamoring for a place to drink."

"I can't imagine why," Finn teased, chuckling.

"I _do_ suppose everyone needs a place to settle their nerves after what happened in Haven," Josephine conceded, patting the back of her braided up-do to make sure every hair was still in place. She turned to briefly look at him, her amber eyes warm. "How are you faring? I'll admit...I was worried when I saw you so hurt."

"Just fine," Finn told her with a smile. She'd actually asked him that before—several times—but it wasn't like he minded. He knew she wasn't scatterbrained and hadn't forgotten she'd asked before; she probably just wanted to make sure he wasn't faking it.

"Good." Josephine smiled softly in return. "I must say, it has been a headache trying to find suitable quarters for everyone here… Warden Blackwall keeps _insisting_ he sleep in the barn with all the horses, Commander Cullen's quarters up on the battlements still don't have a proper roof, and your sister wants to sleep in one of the garden's trees instead." Her eyes flickered, calculating. "Would you be so kind as to give me your specifications _before_ I accidentally find you ill-suited quarters?"

"I'm not too picky," Finn said. He gestured in front of them. "You could always put me over the tavern." It was more of a joke than anything else; he didn't even know if there was a room over the tavern. The stench of ale wafting upwards might get old after a while, but at least he'd be right where all the action and gossip took place.

"You jest, but there _is_ a room." Josephine strode forward, motioning for him to follow. "Come."

Miracles _did_ happen.

Finn kept pace with her as she pushed open the tavern's door and stepped daintily inside. He noticed immediately what this tavern was lacking—namely the stenches of ale breath and sweat. Not a terrible thing to be missing. It did have several polished wooden tables and benches arranged around a central hearth, in front of which a minstrel plucked at her lute and sang a song Finn couldn't quite listen to due to its rapidity. It looked nice in here, warm, inviting; Finn breathed in deeply as he followed Josephine up the stairs, inhaling the scents of lumber and liquor.

He caught a quick glimpse of a corner room on the second floor just before Josephine led him up the next set of stairs; in it was Sera, lounging on the bay window seat, propped up by what looked like a thousand pillows of a thousand wild colors. There was a cabinet inside, one door swung open, contents spilling out onto the floor; not to mention the slashed fabric drapes hanging around the window itself.

Finn gave a bemused shake of his head and ascended the stairs after Josephine.

She led him up and around, finding a dust-covered door at the back of the third floor; Finn oriented himself, realizing just as she opened the door that the room they were entering likely rested on the battlements.

And it was a righteous mess.

He stepped inside, taking it all in. Crumbling, toppled stacks of old, dust-ridden wood planks on the floors, missing pieces of roof, a couple of paintings sitting against the wall completely smashed, no bed—Finn coughed and waved a cloud of dust out of his face, squinting to see through the dirty air.

"I do apologize for the disarray," Josephine said, frowning.

"No, don't worry about it," Finn said amicably. "This'll work just fine once it's cleaned." He moved towards the wood pile, intending to start clearing it out, but Josephine gently grabbed his left bicep, stopping him.

"Please don't strain yourself, Finn," she insisted. "I will have workers begin repairing the room at once."

Finn glanced down at her russet hand on his arm; she let it linger there for a moment, then dropped it. Josephine had a sweet face and warm disposition, but beneath that was a sort of soft, determined will that managed to coax everything into her favor without anyone being the wiser.

Such were the ways of a trained diplomat.

"If you say so," he said with a smile. It wouldn't have strained him in the slightest, but… "I won't exactly _argue_. What else is on the agenda for today, then?"

Josephine returned the smile, approvingly. "Lady Lavellan and Lady Cassandra had one of the men hammer up a bulletin board in the antechamber where my desk is, so your sister can post missives—you might go see that, if you like. In the meantime, I must go make sure the workers are on schedule. Good day."

" _On dhea'him_ ," Finn said.

She left the room, and Finn could just hear her trotting down the stairs.

He remained in the room a moment longer, taking it all in. The Dalish didn't have _rooms_ ; before Haven, he'd never slept in something such as this. He was more accustomed to the flimsy tents when they ventured on an expedition, even now. To have four sturdy walls and a roof (eventually…) over his head… he knew many of his clansmen would quail at the confinement, but Finn rather liked it.

"Well, _someone's_ moving up in the world," Varric said; Finn turned and watched him stride into the room, twirling a pen in his fingers.

"Literally," Finn said, gesturing at the stairs. "That's cute, Varric."

"You catch on quick, Frosty." Varric chuckled, taking another step inside and studying the décor. "What would you call this? Abandoned-disaster-chic?"

"What, you _don't_ like the fabulously ripped drapery?" Finn crossed over to the rotting bed frame and plucked up a scrap of brownish fabric, feelings its threadbare roughness between his fingers. "What's the matter with you? I'm told this is all the rage in Antiva."

Varric snorted. "Who told you that? Ruffles? Fireball?"

Finn knew the first referred to Josephine, but the second… "Who?"

"Warden-Commander Nalida," Varric said, nudging aside a scrap of wood with his foot. "Don't ever snore near the guy. You've been warned. I nearly got all my hair burnt off."

"Is that what happened to your beard?" Finn teased.

"So the elf makes a beardless dwarf joke. Ah…just like old times." Varric got a bit of a nostalgic look on his face, then turned and deliberately shut the door behind him, turning once more to face Finn. "I need someone I can trust, Frosty. And you're the most trustworthy guy I can think of right now."

"Aww." Finn pretended to swoon. "You flatter me."

"Cut the crap." Varric laughed, but his expression very quickly deadened into a more serious one. "With all that's been happening with Corypheus, finding out his identity and him tearing Haven down and bringing the fight to our door, I decided I couldn't sit around and _not_ help. Not after what he did to your sister. So…I reached out to an old friend of mine."

"Who?" Finn asked, even though he was fairly certain he knew the answer.

"Hawke," Varric said.

There was silence for a moment. Finn inhaled slowly through his nose.

 _River Hawke_. The Champion of Kirkwall. The name every free mage cried when they rushed into battle.

"And what did you ask her?" Finn said. "Did you ask her to write back with answers, or to _come to Skyhold?_ Because we both know Cassandra will rip you a new one if she finds out—"

"If she got my letter, then she's on her way here right now," Varric answered, sighing heavily. "I know, I know—Seeker won't be happy about this. That's why I came to you, Frosty; if she does toss me off the battlements, I need someone to get Hawke out of here alive. But this _has_ to happen. Hawke personally knows how powerful Corypheus is."

Finn debated asking him to elaborate, but decided he'd have the opportunity to ask River herself, soon enough.

"Cassandra wouldn't hurt Hawke," Finn reassured him instead. "At least, I don't think she would. She's reasonable."

"We'll see." Varric didn't look convinced. "I may need to hide her in—"

The door creaked open, and in strode Dorian and Iron Bull, both squabbling about something. Bull had to duck to fit through the door frame.

"There you are," Dorian greeted when he saw Finn, visibly relaxing. "I've been looking all over for you. Some horned flummox," he shot Bull a scathing look, "has been pestering me senseless about giving in and admitting the Qun is better than Tevinter."

"You'll give in eventually," Bull said confidently, looking about the room. "Damn. This place could use a pick-me-up."

"What're you going to do, give it whiskey?" Finn joked.

Bull laughed. "I can't think of a better pick-me-up than that, buddy." He looked down at Varric, who didn't look up, probably to avoid the strain of craning his neck so far back. "Say, Varric—you up for a drink?"

"Always." Varric nodded his goodbyes to Finn and Dorian, then followed Bull out the door.

Finn looked up at Dorian, who was studying the room with an increasing air of disgust.

"Dorian—" Finn started.

"What _is_ this monstrosity?" Dorian scoffed.

" _Dorian_."

"No, Finn, look at this." Dorian pointed to a painting leaning against the wall, the only painting that hadn't been damaged by time and decay. "That is singularly the most horrendous piece of art I have ever seen."

Finn took the time to actually look at it, and couldn't help agreeing, secretly—the thing was a painting of a bald man's bust, in a strange stylized fashion, and it was so random and out-of-place that Finn couldn't help bursting into laughter over it.

"All right, all right…it's gross," he admitted. "I'm assuming Josephine will have it removed, though."

"I would expect no less of her," Dorian said. "Really, we can't have you sleeping in such squalor."

"It's not forever," Finn said. "They'll clean it. Hey—I've been meaning to head into the antechamber outside the war room and check the new board they put up. Just to make sure there aren't any impending journeys to go on. You want to join me?"

"Always," Dorian said with a smile.

* * *

Finn was making a valiant effort to concentrate on the handwritten messages pinned to the board, but it was rather difficult with the way Dorian's practiced hands massaged his shoulders into a near gelatinous state.

It was a good thing Josephine wasn't at her desk; Finn had let a couple of short, contented huffs slip out already.

He skimmed his finger along the board; there were only two notes pinned to it. The first had been a request from Warden Blackwall that they search around for some ancient Warden artifacts he'd caught wind of scattered across Ferelden and Orlais, to which Nanyehi had written _If we're in these areas, we'll take a look_ directly beneath it. The second…Finn squinted to read the ornate handwriting.

_Finirial, if you would, please meet with me today. I have business to discuss with you._  
_~ First Enchanter Vivienne_

"Do you have any idea what she wants to see you for?" Dorian asked from behind Finn, his hands working out knots at the base of Finn's neck.

"None," Finn blurted out, then thought a moment. "I lied. That's not true. Cassandra _had_ mentioned getting me dispensation from the Chantry so I won't be brought in for apostasy. Maybe that's what this is about?"

"Or maybe she wants to chastise you for your choice of footwear," Dorian said.

"That might be more likely," Finn said, laughing. At the mention of his feet, he brushed the bottom of one against the opposite leg. As much as he'd enjoy standing here and getting a shoulder rub for literally the rest of his life, he knew he couldn't keep Vivienne waiting. "I should go, I think."

"If you must."

Dorian dropped his hands at the exact moment Sera burst through the door, a quill and small jar of ink clutched in her hands. She regarded Finn and Dorian for one bored-looking moment, then her expression turned devious as she found Blackwall's note pinned to the board and began scribbling with enthusiastic fervor.

Finn's curiosity got the better of him.

"Are you responding to Blackwall's note, or…?" he asked, trailing off.

Sera snorted. "I'm _sketching_ , Finnie. Need to have something to do around here, what with everyone moaning about Haven and Coryphe-arse." She stuck her tongue through her teeth in a sort of concentration, continuing to draw.

Finn peered over her shoulder to look at the drawing. Then he slowly backed away, turned, and left the room without a word.

"I didn't get a chance to see it," Dorian told him, striding after him and letting the door slam shut behind them both. "What was she sketching?"

"Count yourself lucky," Finn said, shaking his head. "It was a crudely-drawn arse with Blackwall's beard on it. Frankly, I will never un-see that."

"Maker's breath." Dorian chuckled under his breath as both of them entered the main hall. "You poor thing. Hopefully someone tears that note down before it blinds anyone."

"I _wish_ I was blind," Finn joked.

"Somehow, I get the sense that isn't the case." Dorian stopped Finn near the main hall's exit; there were various people milling in and around the hall, so he reduced his farewell to a quick squeeze of Finn's shoulders. "Don't forget to tell me how your wardrobe-trashing session goes."

Finn rolled his eyes. "I'm fairly certain I'm seeing her for something less petty, Dorian."

"So you say." Dorian smiled, then turned away and headed up to the library, leaving Finn to head down the ramp and onto the grounds.

It took Finn a few minutes to locate Vivienne. On the way, he took in Skyhold's sights—soldiers sparring with each other in battered armor, the occasional stablehand walking a horse and tugging it along each time it tried to drop its head and graze, nurses kneeling among wounded men and women lying on blankets in the grass. When he did find her standing out on the grounds and inspecting her fingers, her white robes immaculately spotless and the horned hennin at the top of her head polished until it glinted, she noticed him immediately and looked up.

"I'm glad you found my note," she said. Her eyes crinkled somewhat. "Darling, you look _dreadful_. Are you quite all right?"

Here Finn had been thinking he actually looked pretty good today. But no; she very likely was referring to the injuries he was healing from, if he was any judge.

"Getting better every day," he said. "Did you have something you wanted from me?"

"Not _precisely_ , my dear." She studied him with her keen brown eyes for a moment. "I would refer to it as more of an...arrangement. Cassandra tells me you have the makings of a knight-enchanter, and described to me in great detail how you took a pride demon's lightning whip back at the temple. So, I have a proposal for you—I would be more than willing to take you on as a student, provided you prove yourself as an attentive one."

Finn considered it. The techniques _were_ originally elven, but he knew he'd have a difficult time finding a Dalish mage who could teach it to him. Not to mention Vivienne was a First Enchanter and knew the ins and outs of training mages.

"I would really appreciate that," Finn said.

Vivienne gave a smile. "Excellent. No sense in dawdling, then—to be a knight-enchanter, you must have an extraordinarily deep mana reserve. Now, I'd like you to imagine this mana reserve as a muscle. It can be strengthened, and it can atrophy. What I want you to do with this knowledge is spend the next few days strengthening and expanding these reserves."

"And how would you recommend I do that?" he asked.

"Practice, darling." Vivienne held out her palm, summoning a crisp, crystalline globe of white ice. "The more you use these mana reserves, the deeper they run. As often as you can, I want you to be spellcasting, just as I'm doing here. When you run out of mana, wait a minute or so, and start again. This is absolutely essential to becoming a knight-enchanter."

Finn mimicked her, summoning a globe of blue-white ice.

"No, no, no." Vivienne gave a lilting, very Orlesian laugh. "Your ice magic is too easy for you to do. It won't strengthen you. Focus on elements you don't have as much control over."

 _Balls_ , Finn really wanted to curse. Ice magic _was_ easy for him to summon, ridiculously so—although, thinking about it, that probably wasn't the point of this assignment.

"You're right." He clenched his palm, concentrated, and summoned a sparking ball of flame instead. It licked at his hand, brushing his skin with its heat, making him want to flinch away to avoid getting burned.

"Very good." Vivienne nodded once. "I will expect to see progress from you the next time we meet. For now, though, I must be attending to business. _Au revoire_ , my lord Lavellan."

Finn voiced a quick farewell, standing there in the middle of the grass with his hand on fire and wondering who might come by and inform him he was burning.

* * *

Finn's hand was still on fire half an hour later, when he saw hordes of people gathering by the long, crooked ramp that led into the main hall.

He'd already been approached twice and asked if he was aware of his predicament. One nurse had even come up to him with a pail of water ready to fling, to which he'd quickly reassured her that no, he was a mage, and this burning-hand-trick was entirely intentional. The majority of people passing by, though, gave him queer looks and continued on their way.

It occurred to him that he could've found some way to amuse himself during this half hour—reading a book or chatting with a friend, perhaps—but he found himself worried about burning pages, and couldn't find any of his friends nearby to speak to.

Regardless, there was plenty of commotion to keep his attention now. He neared the throng of people, keeping a requisite distance to avoid startling any of them, and watched Leliana appear from within the main hall, a greatsword balanced horizontally on her two flat palms.

Finn spotted Dorian standing with Varric and Sera in the crowd; as if he could feel Finn's eyes on his back, Dorian turned around, raised an eyebrow, then excused himself from them and joined Finn at the back of the gathering.

"Need I ask?" Dorian said, standing beside Finn and eyeing his burning hand.

"Knight-enchanter training," Finn replied. "What's going on here?"

Dorian swiped a finger through the globe of flame above Finn's palm, the biting heat not bothering him in the slightest. "The people have been begging for someone to be named Inquisitor, as you well know," Dorian informed him; yes, Finn knew, he'd been hearing it all over the place. "Well, as luck would have it, they've finally done it just now. And they've named Nanyehi."

It didn't surprise Finn at all, what with everything Nani had done—falling out of the Breach with the green Anchor on her hand, ending the mage-Templar war by announcing the mages as free allies, preventing Corypheus from following them through the secret path up the mountain, dragging herself back to camp, scouting ahead of them all and finding Skyhold. It was rather heartwarming that despite her Dalish heritage, all of these people still plainly saw her as their Maker-sent savior. He watched her step lithely up the steps beside Cassandra to join Leliana, her dark red hair fluttering in the breeze.

She caught his eyes in the crowd when she reached the top, but this time, he realized she wasn't looking to him for affirmation; she actually gave him a confident smile before looking away.

"Inquisition!" Nani yelled, and the crowd's chatter ceased. "Corypheus may have dealt a blow against us, but we will not stop! We will not bow! And we _will not break!_ No matter who we may have been coming into this, we are now allied to stop Corypheus! Stand with me!"

 _Vir bor'assan_ , Finn thought in response. _Bend, but never break._

A whooping cheer rolled through the crowd.

Seeing his sister up there reminded Finn of the way she used to lead hunting parties; smart, strategic, confident, wicked with her bow. Getting sucked into the Breach had dealt a blow to her confidence as well…but here she stood, now, addressing an entire crowd of _shemlen_ when previously she would have hid and sneered at them from the darkness.

Cullen stepped to the front of the crowd and unsheathed his longsword, holding it high. "Will you follow?" he shouted; the crowd cheered again in answer. "Will you fight?" A third round of cheering. Then he turned around to face Nanyehi once more, and she grasped the greatsword from Leliana, lifting it high in the air so its silvery tip stabbed the blue sky.

The answering cheer was deafening, and Finn let the ball of flame in his hand extinguish.

His eyes met Nani's once more, and both of them smiled.


	27. A River Runs Through It

_Thwack_.

Nani's arrow buried itself dead center in the training dummy's head. She rolled her shoulders about, shaking them loose, and pulled another arrow from her quiver, firing it a couple of inches to the left of the first.

Archery had always been her way of releasing tension—and there had certainly been tension in her life since being named Inquisitor. People greeted her with her title when she walked by now; she hadn't heard her own name in what felt like days. (She'd have to convince Commander Cullen to drop the new "Inquisitor" thing and resume calling her by her own name…she realized she'd been rather enjoying the way her name sounded when he said it.) Not to mention everyone looked to her for decisions now, and rightfully so. At least she had Cassandra to look to, as well as Josephine, Leliana, and of course Cullen.

As of now she'd stationed herself in the lower grounds with Cassandra and Cullen, practicing her aim. The mountain sun was bright in the sky today, beaming warmth down on her back and thawing her bones.

Solas's words still rang in her head from when she'd spoken to him only an hour or so ago, when he'd asked her to describe something Corypheus had been carrying. _The orb is of our people,_ she recalled him saying. _It is elven_. He'd said it was a sort of focus for magical powers—she'd gathered that much from the way Corypheus had used it to wreak havoc on her hand.

There was that, and then there was Cole. Most of the people around Skyhold couldn't even remember him, although she'd heard strange gossip about someone throwing vegetables in the cooking fires and leaving plums all over the place to rot. Madame Vivienne thought him demonic, while Solas thought him to be a spirit; either way, Nani was content with letting him stick around Skyhold, so long as the strange occurrences remained benign.

"Cassandra," she said after a third shot, "could you maybe toss something in the air for me to shoot? This whole 'static-target-thing' isn't working."

"Certainly." The seeker searched around for something to throw, found a barrel nearby full of old apples the stablehands had set aside as horse treats, and chucked one upwards.

Nani squinted, nocked an arrow, and released it; it sank into the apple's juicy green flesh midair, and both tumbled to the grass below.

Cullen gave a low whistle from where he stood supervising a couple of sparring soldiers. "You're an impressive shot." Then he turned back to the soldiers and shouted something about not holding a shield like it was a wet napkin before returning his attention to Nanyehi.

"I have to be," she said, firing another arrow when Cassandra threw a second apple. The compliment had not been lost on her, however, nor had it gone without effect—she felt her mouth go a little dry. "If our clan had no good hunters, we'd all be dead."

"You were very important to your clan, then?" Cassandra guessed, holding the third apple ready to throw. "I take it we'll be receiving angry correspondence about taking you from them."

Nani chuckled, shaking her head. She was aware, in her periphery, of Cullen watching her nock an arrow and pull back the bowstring. "It's not _me_ they'll be upset over, I guarantee you. It's Finn." She briefly explained what a First of the Keeper was, without going into too much detail of how popular Finn had been back in Clan Lavellan. "Clans don't lose their First lightly, because Firsts become Keepers…and without Keepers, we have no one to lead us, no one to keep track of our lore. We do have a Second, yes, and he's a damn good mage as well…but we _will_ be getting angry letters about the upheaval, no doubt."

"Thank the Maker for Josephine," Cassandra said with the slightest of smirks, tossing the apple up in the air; Nani shot it down without a moment's hesitation.

"Indeed," Cullen said, resting a gauntleted hand on his sword's pommel. "Although I think you give yourself too little credit, Lady Inquisitor."

"Please," she blurted out, "just call me Nanyehi."

It seemed odd, convincing him to call her that _again_ when he had before. But dynamics had changed, with her being named Inquisitor. Even more odd was the realization that weeks ago, she would have quailed at the thought of such informality with a human. She wouldn't even have been so kind as to use the term 'human' instead of ' _shemlen_.'

Now…the thought of Commander Cullen being so formal with her was worse.

"Are you certain, my lady?" he asked; she didn't look over at him, but she could hear the hesitance in his voice. "I wouldn't wish to be rude."

Cassandra, Nani noticed, was watching this exchange with a raised brow.

"I didn't accept the position to be some overlord," Nani said, shaking her head. "I just agreed to make the decisions that no one else would so we can stop Corypheus and those Red Templars. So no—I don't find it rude to call me by my given name." She sucked in a deep breath. "I would…prefer it if you called me what you want to call me."

Was that too forward? Maybe so. Nani wasn't good at this.

Cullen chuckled. "Very well, Nanyehi."

Something made her release the next arrow too soon, and it whizzed above the apple, thudding harmlessly into the side of a nearby stone building. She stared at where the arrow had fallen in the dew-laden grass, huffing to herself in frustration.

"Again," she said to Cassandra, nodding at the apple barrel, as Cullen turned his back to them and watched the nearby soldiers. Nani tore her gaze away from the strong set of his shoulders and resumed shooting the airborne apples, thankfully not missing any more shots.

As she did this, she caught sight of a couple of Orlesian women in too-frilly dresses strolling through the grounds, lifting their skirts a few inches to try and thwart the wet grass. Nani found herself listening in on their conversation, especially since they stopped walking only a few yards from them and blatantly watched her as they spoke, as if daring her to eavesdrop and make a comment.

"—do you think our Lady Inquisitor is aware of this?"

"So silly! How could she not? Her own _brother_."

"Would you have guessed such a pairing?"

" _Never_."

Nani sighed, and Cassandra hesitated with the next throw. The two women were speaking of Finn and Dorian, obviously. Finn thought he was being _much_ sneakier than he actually was—which was kind of hilarious—but she hadn't missed the glances passed between the two of them recently. A trained hunter missed nothing. And while she'd rather he be free to hide nothing, she didn't care for women chittering about him.

"I like the taste of lemongrass," she said pointedly, glancing over in their direction.

"Pardon?" the two said, almost in unison.

"I just gave you something of the same scandal level to gossip about," she said, reverting her gaze back to Cassandra, who threw another apple in the air; she shot it with a sort of deliberateness. "Now you have something better to do."

By the silence on the women's parts, they'd gotten her message—that Finn's preferences shouldn't have been any more subject to gossip than anyone else's were, romantic or not. What her brother did was his business (and, apparently, Dorian's business.)

So long as Dorian made Finn happy, she was perfectly content with whatever they chose to do.

"Good day, Lady Inquisitor," one of the women said, and they shuffled off, the subject of Finn dropped in favor of discussing some duchess who had committed the ultimate faux pas of wearing the same dress twice. Nani wasn't stupid enough to think they wouldn't eventually start dissecting Finn's love life again, but at least they knew _her_ thoughts on the matter.

She was all ready to keep practicing with renewed vigor (or frustration) but Varric's voice stopped her dead.

"Inquisitor," he greeted behind her; she slowly released the tension on the string, pulled the arrow away, and turned to face him. "There's, uh…something that needs your attention."

"No nickname for me?" she asked. "I'd been hoping to avoid this 'Inquisitor' thing."

"Sorry." Varric chuckled. "You didn't ever really seem the type to appreciate a nickname."

Nani supposed that was true. She'd probably come into the Inquisition with an ' _I-hope-all-shems-eat-dirt'_ expression on her face, and inflection in her words…and even though everyone was happily looking up to her now, it didn't seem as though they were comfortable.

Well…Cassandra was, and Nani could be thankful for that.

"Fair enough," she said. "I can be done shooting for the day. What was it you needed?"

"I'd prefer to show you privately," Varric said, turning a shifty look to Cassandra, whose eyes narrowed to near slits.

"Let's go, then." Nani slung her bow behind her back. "Lead the way."

* * *

Varric, surprisingly, led Nani way up the steps to the top of the battlements; the wind up here buffeted her slender form, making her concentrate on treading more carefully. She looked down at Skyhold's upper and lower courtyards, watching life pass by—Iron Bull repeatedly bashing Krem with a shield (hopefully to teach him a move), other soldiers sparring, Blackwall chopping wood over by the stables. Eventually Varric stopped, lifted his fingers to his lips, and whistled.

A door swung open, and out strode a woman, her midnight-black hair ruffling in the breeze, her eyes bright and welcoming, a striking shade of dark peacock green. She was outfitted in crimson and black rogue's armor, lightweight and leather, with two wicked daggers at her back. Her hips swayed as she walked up to them, her chin lifted confidently.

It couldn't be.

"Inquisitor," Varric said, looking proudly over at the woman, "meet River Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall."

The woman crossed her arms over her chest. "Inquisitor, may I introduce you to Varric, who shoved me in a room and threw a musty blanket over me for no less than three hours while I waited for him to get off his arse and find you, then whistled me over here like a mabari."

"You owed me for all the times you interrupted me mid-ale to go smash up Qunari on the Wounded Coast," Varric shot back, his demeanor relaxed, his smile broad. "You know you love me, Hawke."

"That I do." River smiled, returning her gaze to Nanyehi.

Nani did a half-bow. "Nanyehi of Clan Lavellan. Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," River said.

"Hawke," Varric said, leaning back on one hip, "I figured you might have some friendly advice about Corypheus. You and I did fight him, after all."

"You've _fought Corypheus_ before?" Nani said incredulously.

River laughed. "Varric is being incredibly generous with the word _fought_ ," she said. "Picture instead me flopping about on the floor like a dying fish, Varric trapped in a corner letting bolts fly all over the place, my sister raining down so many fireballs that all of us could barely breathe or see, and Fenris charging around like a cleanup crew. Then you'd be more accurate. But, yes—we encountered the almighty douchebaggery that is Corypheus."

Douchebaggery. That sounded like a word Finn would love to start using.

"Don't forget we did take him down, Hawke," Varric reminded her. "At least, we were fairly certain we did, at the time."

"We were fairly certain _Fenris_ did," River corrected once again. "The Grey Wardens were holding Ser Lord of the Arseholes, and he somehow used his connection to the darkspawn to influence them."

Varric nodded. "Corypheus got into their heads. Messed with their minds. Turned them against each other."

"Varric," River chided, grinning, "you're being awfully rude, dropping the grand title I lovingly created for him."

"So, what does this mean, then?" Nani asked. "If he's influenced the Wardens once… Sister Leliana told my brother that the bulk of the Wardens went missing a short while ago. Could it be…?"

"It could." River's expression turned faintly grave. "They could very well have fallen under his control again. Any Warden nearby could realistically be fair game."

In the dark future she, Dorian, and Finn had witnessed, Corypheus had summoned a massive demon army and slain the Empress of Orlais, but Nani hadn't heard any news about the Grey Wardens. Still, she needed to stitch together as many pieces of this insane puzzle as possible.

"Is this reversible," she said, "or are the Wardens a lost cause, now?"

"I'm not willing to give up on them yet," River said firmly. She rested her hands on her hips. "At any rate, we'll need to know more first, and I've got a friend in the Wardens who may be able to help us out."

"Fireball?" Varric said.

River snorted. "Varric, if I'd been talking about Ferelden's Warden-Commander, I would have said as much."

"Redhead?"

"Not the _Queen_ , Varric. How popular do you think I am?"

"Rosy?"

"No, not Ellairia, either. Stop guessing famous people." She gave a fake exasperated shake of her head. "Nanyehi, my Warden friend—Warden _Stroud_ , Varric—said he was worried about corruption in the Warden ranks last time we spoke. He seems to be avoiding this corruption, though, as far as I can tell. He told me he'd be hiding in an old smuggler's cave near Crestwood. That's all I know on the matter."

"We should find him, then," Nani said, scuffing the bottom of her left foot against her right leg. "Right away."

"You're not much of a dilly-dallier, are you? I like you." River offered Nani a half-smile.

"You like _elves_ ," Varric teased.

"I'm about to no longer like _dwarves_ , if you keep up your shenanigans," River fired back.

"You wound me."

Nani cleared her throat, getting the conversation back on track—she'd leave the two old friends to reminisce in a moment's time. "I'll put a notification on the board in Josephine's office that we're to head to Crestwood as soon as possible, then," she said. "Right now, any leads are good to go."

There _was_ the matter that Josephine was investigating, on how to warn Empress Celene of her possible impending death, but she hadn't made headway quite yet.

"I'll come with you, when you leave for Crestwood," River offered. "Warden Stroud will trust you, if he sees me."

"Thank you." Nani offered a smile of her own, in return. "I appreciate it."

"Anything," River said. "I spent years of my life running around, trying to prevent Kirkwall from turning into a complete shitfest. Since I failed in _that_ goal, I might as well offer whatever aid I can to you. You seem to know what you're doing."

 _Seem to_ was an accurate way of putting it. Nani had no idea what the Wardens were up to, no clue what to do if Stroud told her Corypheus had taken them over.

But she would damn well try to fix it.


	28. Wardens and Walking Dead

Rain spattered all over the ground, falling from the dark, roiling sky above in near sheets, soaking Finn to the bone. His white hair kept being plastered to his forehead, and so he kept pushing it back, trying to maintain some semblance of put-together-ness.

Dorian's hair still looked exactly as it always did, damn him. The aforementioned Tevinter mage caught Finn's glance; Finn just smiled and turned to look at the rest of the group standing in the thick, sopping mud just outside of Crestwood. Nanyehi and Blackwall were the only ones who stood stoically through the downpour; Dorian kept fussing with his armored robes, Varric kept fussing with _Bianca_ , and River was currently in the process of yanking her black hair into a ponytail, getting mad about a bump of hair sticking up, ripping out the leather tie, and repeating the process.

Scout Harding was just finishing debriefing Nani on the condition of Crestwood and the surrounding area—the miserable weather and dark skies, the scenic view of the flooded lake to their right, the auroral shimmer of a rift she said was likely beneath the water's black depths. The dwarf heaved a sigh, brushed wet hair off her forehead, and finished her diatribe with, "Crestwood was the site of a flood ten years ago during the Blight, Inquisitor. That's not the only rift in the area, but after it appeared, corpses started walking out of the lake. I'd be careful…they're hitting the village pretty hard."

" _Now_ it's a party," Finn said.

"Do we have any beer to pass around?" River added.

That was the point where Nanyehi and Blackwall started studiously ignoring them and tromped over to one of the tables a couple yards away, stuffing their packs with supplies to replenish from the journey there.

"Ah, yes. Let's make a jaunty toast to our semi-deceased, lake-dwelling compatriots," Dorian put in sarcastically. "Any other tremendously silly ideas you'd like to put forth, Finn?"

"You know better than to ask me that," Finn said.

Dorian huffed a quick laugh. "I really do."

"Besides," Finn said, "you can blame River for getting alcohol involved."

"You're going to see yourself using that phrase a _lot_ more than just today, Frosty," Varric said with a snort. "I'd get comfortable with it."

Finn chuckled.

He'd taken an immediate liking to River Hawke, truthfully; and she to him, after overcoming an initial awkward look and deciding Finn was "Fenris's peppy Dalish doppelganger" or something to that effect. Of course, that had prompted Dorian asking River if Finn really resembled Fenris that closely, to which River had smooshed Finn's face between her palms and declared, " _No_. Look at this happy face. It's so _cute_." She'd let go after being prodded by Varric to lay off the weirdness, but Finn really didn't mind all this; a compliment was a compliment, no matter how strange the form.

Finn brought his focus back to the present, listening to the raindrops spatter all over the roughly cobbled road beneath them. The stones were slick beneath his feet, slippery; even he would have to watch his steps.

"Everyone ready?" Nani asked, slinging her pack over her shoulder and looking at them all expectantly.

"Ready as we'll ever be," River said.

"I'll second that," Blackwall said. "Let's be moving."

They fell in formation behind Nani, heading up the rain-slick hill; Finn absently watched jade-green fern leaves bob around in the wet wind at the grassy sides of the path.

"Shouldn't you be married off right now, Sparkler?" Varric decided to ask as they trudged up the hill, the rain lashing wind in Finn's face. He squinted to shield his eyes, but rather enjoyed the chill of it, listening to Varric finish. "Little magelets running amok?"

Finn snorted at 'magelets.'

"If my family had their way," Dorian said. He gave Finn a bit of a knowing glance.

Finn nearly laughed at that. _If only Dorian's family knew about his recent dalliances with a Dalish savage…they would all have sudden heart attacks._

"Had someone lined up for you, huh?" Varric asked.

"Let me guess," River said from ahead of them, tilting her head just slightly, "her name was Bloodmage'ia Tevinterius the Third, she was the daughter of a prominent magister, and her favorite pastimes were ritual sacrifice and crocheting."

"Your second choice of hobbies destroyed the appallingly stereotypical image you were trying to craft," Dorian said, an amused lilt in his voice. "But, no—Livia Herathinos. Bright girl, hourglass figure, wicked tongue. Relieved I'm gone, I expect."

 _No one's more relieved than I am, I think_ , Finn mused. He'd been wondering as of late what sort of quirk drove Dorian to seek out the company of another man, a wild elf no less, rather than the beautiful, high-class women back in Tevinter. Dorian hadn't explicitly said what his preferences were, not yet, just heavily implied one of them when he'd kissed Finn that evening on the mountain.

"Sounds like you two would've made a happy couple," Varric noted. Bianca clinked noisily on his back as he walked.

 _Sounds like I'm about to put a foot up your arse_ , Finn mused, again. Lovingly and hypothetically, of course—he _did_ happen to love Varric, awkward questions aside.

"Oh, yes." Dorian rolled his eyes. "Trading coy insults at every party would have been a delight." His tone softened, just barely. "It's all in the past, as it were—I've found much better company to spend boring parties with."

Finn allowed himself a bit of a sly smile, even as his heart thudded a bit harder at that.

"Speaking of love lives…" Varric said. "Hawke, where's Fenris?"

"Who knows?" River said, shrugging.

There was silence for a moment, conversation-wise; the rain poured on, and bits of wet gravel crunched under their feet.

"Shouldn't _you_ know?" Varric asked.

"He doesn't exactly know where I am, Varric," River answered; the pitch of her voice sharpened to a knife's edge, with an unmistakable ' _I-won't-go-into-details'_ undertone to it. "Conversely, I can guess where he is, but I don't know anything for sure."

No one spoke more of it, but that was mostly due to Nani suddenly coming to a halt and jerking two fingers forward in a signal ahead of them. "Fighting," she said. "You hear it, Finn?"

Nodding, Finn said, "yeah. Could be those corpses Scout Harding mentioned?"

"Likely," Nani said. "Dorian, Finn, hang back and be extra careful about where you sling your spells. I don't want any villagers roasted, or frozen, or whatnot."

"How else are we going to eat them properly?" Finn said.

"Yes, how? Should we subject ourselves to the barely cooked horrors of _smoked_ villagers?" Dorian said.

"I'd prefer seared," River said.

"No one's tried villagers _raw?"_ Varric said. "You're all a bunch of chickens."

Nani sighed heavily. "I regret knowing all of you. I really do." Her voice, though, disagreed with her; Finn could catch a hint of teasing in his sister's tone, no matter how much she tried to bury it. She resumed her course up the hill, lengthening her strides, and the rest of them eventually followed.

When they crested the rise and caught their first murky glimpse of Crestwood's entrance, Finn saw what he'd already heard—a warrior and an archer fighting what looked like rotting, shambling _things_ , their throaty rattles echoing even over the rainstorm. Nani didn't waste any time yanking her bow off her back and firing an arrow into the fray; Finn saw one of the corpses go down in a heap, and that caught the attention of the others, who thankfully turned most of their focus to Blackwall and his almost impenetrable shield.

The clanking of Bianca's mechanical gears was impossible to miss, even over the din, but River nearly vanished in battle. Finn had readied his staff, thinking to throw a barrier over her—albeit not a fantastic one—but he could barely even spot her. Once or twice he caught a shadowed figure and a flash of bright silver, and a corpse clattered to the cobbles below, but then she was gone again, slinking into near nothingness.

Incredible. Obviously the Champion of Kirkwall had to be good at what she did to be called a champion, but Finn had only seen Dalish hunters achieve that sort of finesse, that mastery over stealth. It must've taken years to perfect.

He remained cautious amidst the fighting, trying to find a good opening to cast a spell through, but with River and Blackwall and the other unknown people already in the fray, his casting was restricted to a few concentrated lightning orbs and the errant ice spike or two. As was Dorian's—Finn could tell he was being equally cautious.

He caught sight of a corpse hobbling towards him, and he studied it with an almost sick fascination. The thing was soaking wet, grayish skin sloughing off to reveal diseased clumps of what might've once been organs inside its rotting body; its steps were wobbly, unpracticed, and the hand that swung a crude battleaxe was nearly all bone and peeling sinew. It opened its mouth, baring a couple of black and yellow teeth, and fixed its clouded eyes on Finn as it raised the axe and quickened its lurching steps.

Finn smirked, raised his staff, and blasted the thing with a stonefist spell.

Keeper Istimaethoriel had taught him _that_ beautiful one. The spell might have hurtled the creature away from him, if it hadn't disintegrated its body into chunks first.

"No blizzards?" Dorian called over.

"I'm supposed to branch out," Finn called back. As per Vivienne's instructions, he was supposed to focus on less easy, non-ice spells in the hopes of strengthening his mana pool, which was the first step in achieving proper knight-enchanting. It seemed to be working, too—Finn could feel the thrumming of magic even stronger now in his blood, quivering his hands when he focused on it.

With the last corpse down, decimated by Finn's stonefist, everyone sheathed their weapons and regrouped; Finn looked over at the humans who'd fought with them, watching them turn away with a sort of shifty look and step back onto the road, away from Crestwood.

He couldn't have mistaken their armor, even if he'd tried to. Those were Grey Wardens.

But they'd disappeared, Leliana had said. Most of them, anyway. Four of the Wardens who'd stopped the Blight—Cousland, Nalida, Surana, and Mahariel—couldn't even be accounted for. Only King Alistair had remained within reach, it seemed. And, of course, Blackwall, and Stroud if they were able to find him. But here were a couple of Wardens, a warrior and scout, who were supposed to be missing—flesh and blood and _real_ , and they certainly hadn't wanted to chat with any Inquisition forces.

Bizarre.

He caught Nani's glance, and it seemed like she'd been looking at the Wardens as well; a tiny nod from her confirmed that. But it didn't seem like she was expecting them to catch up to the Wardens and investigate them…yet.

The outskirts of the village here were a ruined mess, at least outside of the gates; the bare skeleton of an old house frame here, the crumbling remains of a stone retaining wall there. Scattered about were several corpses, more than the ones they'd just killed; some of them even had smoke twining up from their bodies, the last vestiges of where the rain had tamped down fire. The villagers—or the Wardens—might've fought them with torches, for lack of a mage.

River nudged one of the corpses with the toe of her boot, looking down at it with disgust. "Why does everything we fight have to be some sort of nasty, oozing mess?" she said. "Why, Varric? Can't we fight fluffy bunnies for a change?"

"What sort of monster kills bunnies?" Finn said.

"What if those bunnies had razor-sharp fangs and immediately tried to sink said fangs into your carotid artery?" River said, raising an eyebrow. "What then?"

"I don't even know how to answer that," Dorian said, reaching over and brushing a speck of bloodied dirt off the shoulder of Finn's armor.

Nani cleared her throat, looked over her shoulder at the village even though they could barely see within it, and looked back at them all once more.

"Let's go _in_ , at least, before we make any decisions," she suggested.

Finn was about to say something to the effect of agreeing with her, but the words choked off into nothingness in his throat when one of the corpses lying on the ground gave a sudden shriek and clamped its dead, scaly fingers in a vise around Finn's ankle.

Pure instinct and surprise made him try to jerk away from the thing rather than swing his staff at it, but it had such a tight hold on his leg that his movements dragged its rotting body with him; it grappled higher on his leg, trying to get an even worse grip on him. Dorian grabbed him around the middle from behind and pulled, and Blackwall's sword drove into the creature's head at the same time as one of Nani's arrows whistled into its neck.

Its fingers went slack, dropping away from Finn's ankle, and he took a quick breath, steadying himself on his own two feet even as Dorian's hands gripped his shoulders from behind and kept him there.

They all stared down at the now three-times-dead corpse on the ground with varying expressions of unease and shock.

"…well, _that_ was disturbing," Dorian eventually said from behind Finn.

"So they keep getting back up," Blackwall grunted. "No wonder this village is on its last leg."

"Should we, you know, actually go in the village so nothing else tries to eat Frosty?" Varric suggested.

"Right there with you," Nani said, leading the way into the village.

Finn couldn't help but obsessively watch the ground, now, until they actually passed through the arched wooden gate and made it into Crestwood. "Sorry about that," he said sheepishly. "I forgot how to react, for a moment. I should've killed it myself."

"We all get thrown off, sometimes," River said. "I'll admit I jumped out of my skin, too."

Inside the walls, Crestwood looked a little more alive—the houses were intact, scattered people walked around carrying sacks of grain or schlepping logs. There was no sense of leisure here, not like in Redcliffe. These people knew the horrors of the undead constantly clawing at their walls.

A couple of archers hurried up to them with wide eyes, bowing briefly at Nani. "Maker bless you, Inquisitor," one said. "We'd only taken a break to get a drink of water. We're stretched a little thin here…"

Not waiting for her response, they took up their posts at the gate, their stances stiff and frightened.

Nani briefly watched the villagers, then turned to face the five of them.

"We have two options, here," she said. "We could press on and locate Warden Stroud, since River already knows where he is…or we could find a way to reach that rift in the lake. The corpses all seem to be coming up from there—I think closing that rift could very well save this village from future attacks. It'll take time and energy, though. Thoughts?"

"We can't abandon the village," Finn said. "But it's your hand closing the rift, Nani."

"Leaving these people to fend for themselves would be cowardice," Blackwall said firmly.

River, Varric, and Dorian nodded their agreement.

"Good," Nani said, looking relieved. "Much as I want to find Stroud and get this Warden business sorted out, I didn't want to leave these people either. I was just making sure you all didn't mind the extra fighting." She took her time looking over the five of them. "Blackwall, this town probably has a mayor—let's see what he knows. I'll wager there's a cavern we can crawl into and get to the rift under it."

"Aye," Blackwall said.

"Finn, Dorian," Nani continued, fixing her clear turquoise eyes on them, "those Wardens that just left without a word…I need you two to catch up to them and see if they have anything to say about why they're not disappeared with the rest of the Wardens."

Finn heard a few of her unspoken words—he was their best chatterbox and could probably squeeze something out of a _raisin_ , let alone getting information from some shifty Wardens.

"We can do that," Finn said. Wardens fascinated him, anyway, even if they were just recounting what sort of stale bread they'd had for breakfast—this wouldn't be a chore by any stretch of the imagination.

"And us?" River asked. "Why don't Varric and I make some sweeps of the town's outskirts and clear out any undead who might be crawling up here for some raw Finn-leg?"

"That would be appreciated," Nani said. "Let's meet back here in an hour."

* * *

Finn and Dorian caught up to the Wardens decently far along the road; they were moving quickly, which seemed to say that whatever destination had brought them here was pressing them to make haste. He estimated they were already a solid twenty minutes away from Crestwood Village. They hadn't been difficult to track, though, far away as they were—every Dalish knew the basics of tracking, and these two weren't trying to hide themselves.

"Wardens," Finn greeted, making them stop and turn around to study him, "Agent Lavellan, of the Inquisition. Thanks for the aid back there. We really needed it."

Whatever they'd been about to say, Finn's cheerful _thank you_ seemed to have disarmed them.

"And we thank you, Agent," one of them, the warrior, replied, his voice muffled through his heavy winged helm. If he wondered why Finn and Dorian had come all this way just to thank them, he didn't say as much.

If Finn up and said ' _why-the-hell-are-you-not-vanished'_ , he might spook them off—time to be a little more roundabout.

"Crestwood seems like an odd place for a Warden sweep," he said. "Are you here to solve the undead issue? Those fuckers are trying to make shepherd's pie out of the village."

Dorian snorted a laugh, but quickly composed himself. The Warden archer also looked a bit amused, but his expression quickly faded.

"No," the warrior said, giving his head a bit of a shake. "Crestwood Village was only a detour. We're searching for a Warden named Stroud—he's wanted for questioning. We'd heard he passed through here, but the villagers knew nothing. They have troubles enough."

"Whatever could he have done that warrants questioning?" Dorian said, asking the obvious question.

"Warden-Commander Clarel ordered his capture," the warrior answered. "I can say no more than that. All I can say is that I hope he comes peacefully; I trained under him for a time. He's a good man, I'm sure of that."

If the Wardens were truly vanished into the wild blue yonder like Leliana had insinuated, then why was Orlais's Warden-Commander still issuing orders and sending out troops? Nani had already given Finn the discouraging news that most of the Wardens could likely be under Corypheus's nasty darkspawn thumb…but what did Corypheus want with Stroud?

"And we can't afford to come up emptyhanded, either," the rogue put in. "Clarel is already furious enough that we can't locate Warden-Commander Nalida _or_ his conspirators."

Interesting. Warden-Commanders didn't usually clash like that, not that badly.

"What's wrong with _him?"_ Finn said.

"They're traitors to the order," the archer said with more conviction in his voice than might have been necessary. "Nalida went rogue and took others with him. That should be punishable by—"

"We've said enough," the warrior interrupted. "If your Inquisition can help Crestwood, I beg you to do what you can. The villagers have already lost too many." He nodded his farewell. "Good day."

"And you," Finn said, watching them leave and waiting until they were out of earshot. He looked up at Dorian. "What the hell happened to make the Warden-Commanders split like that? To the point where one is hunting the other? This is _crazy_."

"Sometimes," Dorian said, watching them as well, the stirring of a thought in his grey eyes, "I look at asinine events like this one, and wonder if _Varric_ is the one writing all of our plot twists and cackling at his desk."

"Does that make Varric the Creators?" Finn said.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Or the Maker." He tilted his head back to look up at the rainy sky. "Should I be surprised I didn't get struck by lightning for that?"

"At least _you_ didn't trash a Chantry with a blizzard," Finn said, turning. "Let's head back."

"Speaking of…" Dorian rested his hand on the back of Finn's neck as they walked. "How does it feel, using the other elements? You do seem to prefer the ice."

"It's not just that." Finn lifted his palms up as he walked, gazing at them. "It's not that I chose to use ice, when I was little. It…chose _me_. If that makes any sense at all. And now it feels like it's clawing inside my hands, trying to get out. Sometimes my veins feel so _cold_." He shrugged. "I must sound like a lunatic."

"Finn, this is one of those rare times you _don't_ ," Dorian told him.

"Thanks." Finn gave a bit of a wry smile. "You don't seem to mind."

"No, indeed. I think I've gotten rather attached to your lunacy."

"Like mold," Finn said, bringing up one of their earlier conversations. "It's growing on you."

"Yes," Dorian said. "Lovely."

By the time they neared the village once again, Finn could already see Nani, Blackwall, Varric, and River waiting for them just outside. They all glanced up as Finn and Dorian approached; Finn remembered Dorian's hand was still on him and muttered a quick, "you're not going to drop your hand? That's brave."

"Why?" Dorian asked, one eyebrow twitching upwards. "Are you ashamed?"

"No." Finn shook his head. Ashamed of having some sort of undefined relationship with a ridiculously good-looking, smart, witty mage? Finn could think of much worse things. It had made him a little nervous to be semi-public with that information, initially, but that had faded rather rapidly. "I've learned not to give much of a rat's arse what other people think. I only thought you might be."

Dorian's answering smirk bordered on arrogant. "I'll show you how ashamed I am."

He fisted a hand in the front of Finn's armor, pulled him close, and kissed him.

Much as Finn wanted to, well, _follow up on that thought_ , it was quick; Dorian pulled away a second or so later, gave Finn a lively thump on the back, and joined the others where they were waiting. Finn swallowed hard to compose himself, to try and stop the blood rushing through all the wrong places, and followed a second later.

Nani was watching him, but he couldn't quite read her expression.

At least, not until she smiled and said, "old news, Finn."

_Old news?_

"But don't stop on our account," River said, crossing her arms over her chest, a bit of a teasing twinkle in the deep peacock green of her eyes.

Varric huffed a quick laugh.

"Any news on the Warden business, Finn?" Nani asked him.

Back to business. Finn cleared his throat. "There's some weird shit going on," he said. "For one, they're in the area looking for Warden Stroud to bring him in for questioning. Two, apparently Warden-Commander Nalida has been branded by Warden-Commander Clarel as a traitor to the order, and he took a small following and vanished. Whatever made Stroud wanted for questioning, I think it might be similar."

"I don't like this," Blackwall said, scowling. "The Wardens should always be a united front against darkspawn. The way they're splitting up like this…it's a stain on our Order."

"I wonder why they don't want _you_ in for questioning," Nani said, looking skeptical.

"I've been out in the wilderness recruiting," Blackwall said calmly. "I haven't been involved in their issues as of late. They know that."

"Seems so." Nani let it go. "As for the lake…the mayor was very reluctant to give us this information, but there _is_ a way under it: to drain it. Only one problem—the mechanism that dammed up the lake in the first place is in Caer Bronach, an old fort not far from here…which is currently overrun by highwaymen."

"Finn," Dorian said, "the moment you called Crestwood a party, you cursed us all. Now we've got more exciting _guests_ to deal with."

"I aim to please," Finn said.

"We've got no choice but to clear the fort, then," River said. She patted Varric's shoulder. "Just like old times, eh?"

"Close," Varric said. "I'm getting little nostalgic tingles."

The sky rumbled above, and a jagged strip of lightning struck the ground about half a mile out; Finn could feel the electric vibrations beneath his feet.

Nani looked silently up at the sky for a moment, raindrops spattering her fair skin, darkening the deep green marks of Dirthamen on her face.

"Let's hurry," she said. "I get the weird feeling that lightning will strike _us_ if we keep standing around."

Unlikely as it was…Finn was strangely inclined to agree.


	29. Dirge of the Drowned Village

The towering strength of Caer Bronach might have been a sight for sore eyes, had it not been crawling with highwaymen like some sort of armed termite infestation.

Finn's eyes traced over the rough grey stones of the fort, his gaze sweeping over the battlements before settling on the heavily fortified wooden gate. Obviously no simple _knock, knock_ would persuade the men inside to grant them entry…Finn suspected they'd need much more drastic means.

"They've got archers," Nani said softly, gesturing, her sharp seaglass eyes raking over the fort's ramparts. "And they'll spray us with arrows if we make too much noise or take too long breaking down the door. We need something fast and violent."

"Isn't that why I'm here?" Finn said, jerking his head back towards the staff strapped to his back. Nothing was more violent than a mage, in most circumstances.

"I thought you were here to be reckless enemy-fodder," Varric quipped. "We all know you excel at that profession."

"I'd prefer if he stayed comic relief, really," Dorian said.

"I'd prefer if we just broke down the damnable door," Blackwall cut in. "I'd bash it with my shield, but I don't think one blow would do it in."

Straight to business. Finn could respect that about the guy; he occasionally cracked a smile and let out an amused chuckle when things got particularly humorous, but if you needed someone to solveall your problems, Blackwall was your man.

Not to mention his beard was absolutely _mesmerizing_. Finn would have to explain to Dorian about how many elves were unreasonably fascinated with facial hair.

"Finn," Nani said, "Dorian…see what you can do."

"This should be fun," Dorian said, flashing a wolfish smile that nearly made Finn weak in the knees. The both of them closed the distance between them and the fortified gate, Finn keeping a watchful eye on the ramparts as they went.

Finn stopped a couple yards from the gate itself, and Dorian did the same; they were only a foot or so apart from each other, the rawness of their combined mana humming in the storm-moistened air between them. Irksome as it occasionally—no, seldom—was, Vivienne telling him to call on other forces than ice and winter had really done quite the wonder for his mana reserves.

He pulled his staff from the bindings at his back and cupped his hands almost affectionately around the sopping wet rosewood shaft before transferring it to his right hand and holding it at the ready.

"Are we going for some giant synergistic shit here, or just letting all hell break loose?" Finn asked Dorian, briefly wondering if both of them using the same spell would be stronger than two separate but powerful spells.

"Surprise me," Dorian said. "You're good at that."

Finn grinned.

Dorian hurled a roaring fireball at the gate just as Finn sent a stonefist spell its way. Fortified as it was, it didn't stand a chance; the fireball burst the wood into hissing flames, and the stonefist sent the chunks of burning, splintered wood spraying into the interior of the fort like shards of shattered glass. There was an animalistic screech from a highwaymen who was in an unfortunate place at the time, and Finn watched him crumple to the wet dirt below.

River streaked past him and Dorian like a shadow, followed by Blackwall, who raised his shield high and charged in over the scattered wood chunks.

An arrow whistled past Finn's ear as he, Nani, Varric, and Dorian joined the mayhem inside the fort's interior. He briefly caught sight of two archers firing from a wooden ledge directly in front of him, but Nani's arrow caught one in the throat and sent him tumbling down.

The other archer was a bit quicker to react; he raised a war horn to his lips, signaling his bandit brethren as he strafed out of the way of Varric's shot. He wasn't quick enough to avoid Dorian's answering inferno, however, and when the flames simmered away, Finn spotted his charred husk slipping off the sloped ledge.

"More coming our way!" Blackwall yelled, signaling to a long set of stairs.

Indeed, there _were_ more—the archer's war horn had called several down, and they flooded the small grounds, attacking without any sort of question. Finn found one at the tail end of the charge and blasted him with a lightning orb; amazingly enough, after a moment of writhing in agony, the bandit warrior resumed his maddened path into the fray.

Simple highwaymen they might've been, but they'd pilfered damn good armor from someone along the way.

Amidst a volley of magic, a whistling of arrows and bolts, and a sharp clanging of steel, the highwaymen kept fighting, trying to force them out of Caer Bronach—or, more likely, trying to beat them into a juicy pulp. Finn didn't relish being turned into pulp, so he used the onslaught as practice for the barrier spell Solas had taught him. The watery blue film of it flickered around him like a second skin after he cast the spell, and not a second later an arrow glanced off the barrier over his chest, sinking uselessly in the mud.

Finn frowned and answered _that_ with a particularly vindictive fireball.

The last of the initial wave of highwaymen went down with a flash of River's daggers. Nani let her bowstring go slack, gazing down at the dead attackers around their feet with a heavy breath.

"Whoever they are, they're well-armed," she said. "This could be a challenge."

"More so than the thousands of other well-armed goons who have already tried to kill you?" Dorian pointed out with a bit of a grin. "Chin up. This can't be _too_ hard."

"Sparkler, you're starting to sound like Frosty," Varric said. "I think he's rubbing off on you."

"Creators forbid," Nani said, chuckling. She straightened her spine. "Let's go—I'd rather take out all of these highwaymen before we try looking for a way to un-dam the lake."

* * *

A scattered number of highwaymen tried to block their progress as they made their way through Caer Bronach. But they died with relative ease, and that lulled Finn into a deceptive sense of security about the whole thing. Surely they'd just about cleared everyone out of the keep—and therefore could be free to search for the mechanism that would drain that great black lake.

It was when they climbed the stairs to the ramparts and reached the last corner of them that Finn realized his mistake.

The couple of archers nocking arrows and aiming in their direction didn't bother Finn that much. The spirited cries from the warriors as they raised their swords high didn't really make him quake in his greaves either. No—that lovely honor was reserved for the absolutely massive highwayman chief emerging from the back of the group, a horned helm obscuring his face, a gargantuan warhammer in his meaty hands.

None of the bandits attacked at first sight, but they did have all weapons at the ready as Nani, Finn, Blackwall, Varric, and River strode forward, stopping just outside the arc of highwaymen. The chief lifted his warhammer and slammed the head of it into the stone ground, making cracks spread in thin fissures beneath him.

"Inquisitor!" he roared, his voice deep, rough as gravel. "So you finally come to face me? I'm going to enjoy mounting your knife-eared head on a pike!"

Like hell he would. Crystalline tendrils of frost crackled around Finn's hands.

"Don't even think about it,"Dorian hissed down at Finn as Nani stepped forward.

Finn briefly glanced up, feigning innocence. "Think about what?"

"I know you, Finn."

Nani's voice interrupted their hasty exchange. "That's an awful lot of cockiness from a _scavenger_ who snatched a fort from a bunch of people who are already being overrun by the _undead_." Her hand twitched; Finn knew it could reach her quiver of arrows at a moment's notice. "I'll bet no one put up a fight for Caer Bronach when you weaseled on in."

"You think you can best me, elf?" the chief challenged, raising his warhammer with both hands and shaking it for effect. "Duel me, then! I'll make you a bloody smear on my weapon!"

Finn watched Nani for her reaction—he knew she could be provoked to violence fairly easily, under the right circumstances. Then something caught his eye; or, rather, the lack of something. River was no longer standing with them. Finn couldn't even locate her, no matter where his eyes went.

He didn't voice her absence, or turn his head around too dramatically. Whatever she'd snuck into the shadows to accomplish, he didn't want to blow her cover.

"How much of an idiot do you think I am?" Nani told the chief.

The chief sneered loudly, lowering his warhammer to a fighting stance…

Finn's keen elven eyes caught the barely perceptible flash of movement behind the chief, just seconds before River appeared as if from nowhere, one of her daggers making a swift slice at the chief's throat where his armor didn't protect him. The large human made a gagging noise and staggered a step towards Nani, and she reacted, shooting an arrow straight into his windpipe. Finn tensed, watching the man's towering body sway once, twice, then fall to the stone beneath them with a thud that vibrated under Finn's feet.

There was a pause, a shocked moment. Then the rest of the highwaymen attacked.

Just in time, Finn caught a glimpse of one warrior charging at Varric, who was in the middle of aiming Bianca's crosshairs at an archer; Finn threw himself in front of Varric and raised his staff sideways to block the warrior's swinging sword. He'd seeped a barrier into the rosewood shaft just at the last moment; the warrior's blade sprang off the staff like it was bouncing off rubber, and the warrior grunted in surprise before recovering and swinging at Finn. In turn, Finn whipped his staff around and walloped the man with a burst of ice. He staggered backwards, stumbling over the side of the ramparts and plummeting to his doom.

Finn smirked, flinging a lightning ball at the bandit attacking Blackwall.

"I can't shoot through your ass, Frosty!" Varric said, strafing to the side; a bolt whizzed past Finn's ribs.

"Then quit aiming at it!" Finn said, raising his staff high in the air and raining lightning bolts down on the attackers. They flashed brilliant whitish-yellow through the downpour, illuminating streaky drops of rain. He saw one of Dorian's fireballs hurtle into an archer and send the man flying. The continuous whistle of Nani's arrows was a familiar noise, a comforting one—Finn always listened for it to make sure his little sister was still up and fighting.

A shield bash from Blackwall brought down the last of the highwaymen; Finn saw Nani wipe a bit of sweat off her brow as they regrouped.

"Do we have anyone who'd want this guy's warhammer?" River asked, nudging the weapon with the toe of her boot.

"Why not sell it?" Varric said. "I've got buyers who would kill for that thing."

"Literally?" Finn said, returning his staff to his back.

Varric laughed. "Oh, I wouldn't doubt it."

Nani glanced between them all. "I might be able to have Scout Harding send someone to pick it up and bring it back to Skyhold," she said. She turned on her heel and did a little look-around from where she stood, studying the fort. "Better yet—why not take the whole fort? If we don't, more bandits might. And the Inquisition could use an outpost here. I'll bet Leliana would appreciate it."

"Why did I _never_ think of that in Kirkwall?" River wondered aloud as she unabashedly knelt and began sifting through the chief's pockets.

"Because most of us civilized folk don't often come across the dilemma of whether or not to pilfer a fort from previous pilferers?" Dorian said, lifting an eyebrow.

"I'm kicking myself for the same thing, Hawke," Varric said. "Maybe if we had, we wouldn't have had to keep clearing assholes out of that one cave on the Wounded Coast."

"And don't forget that one back alleyway in Lowtown," River said.

"How could I?" Varric laughed again.

Nani stepped up to the highest corner of the ramparts, shielding her eyes with her forehead as she looked out over Crestwood. "We need to find the mechanism to drain the lake, obviously," she said. "But I think we should put a claim on this fort." She tilted her head back to look at them. "We need a fast runner to reach Harding and tell her to move the camp here until Leliana sends agents. Who's up for a run in the rain?"

Finn knew he probably would've been the obvious choice—he _was_ their quickest sprinter, after all—but River volunteered first. "I'll run back to camp," she offered. "Not to mention the village is going to need more help to fight off those undead—I'll head there after talking to Harding and help them out a bit. And I'll catch up to you once the village is clear."

"If you're going to Crestwood Village," Nani said, "then you should take someone with you."

"I'll come with you, Hawke," Varric said instantly, stepping over to her.

"Another adventure with my trusty dwarf!" River said cheerfully, patting Varric. "I couldn't ask for better."

"You could ask for Fenris," Varric quipped. "Who you're going to tell me all about on the way to camp. No 'but's."

River sighed, and the two of them set off down the ramparts, heading out of the fort ahead of the rest of them.

* * *

Seeing the lake—the _distinctly_ smaller lake—when they walked out of the old abandoned tavern connected to Caer Bronach by a thin bridge over the dam had been unsettling, to say the least. Now its waters lapped gently on the surface, disturbed only by the pattering of rain. When Dorian craned his head to look, he saw a smattering of old, rotted wooden frames below on the new coastline; buildings, he realized. There used to be homes beneath the lake's black surface.

The lake had risen ten years ago during the Fifth Blight, Nanyehi had relayed to them from the town mayor. Even more curious was this mayor's claim that darkspawn had broken the lever that had dammed up the lake in the first place, making it impossible to drain the lake, and yet they'd found it perfectly intact upon arrival.

Something was definitely fishy. And Dorian hadn't just thought that for the sake of an appropriately aquatic pun.

He found himself staring down at the lake below as they walked back across the bridge, taking care to step carefully with how rain-slicked the stones had become. Really, if Dorian never felt another raindrop in his whole life, it would be too soon—this weather in Crestwood was beyond horrid, and he had to keep stopping himself from making comments about it. He certainly didn't feel like having Blackwall send another withering look his way.

Thankfully, Finn didn't seem to be having trouble with the weather, nor the footing; the elf's smooth walk never faltered, no matter how slippery the stones were. It spoke of years learning how to adapt to everything the outdoors threw at him, and Dorian couldn't kept but marvel at that, amongst everything else he already marveled about.

Ahead of him, Nanyehi and Finn were discussing the suspiciousness of the large crank _not_ being broken by darkspawn, and in fact having no evidence of darkspawn tampering in the slightest. Finn, of course, made some comment about the tavern's name—The Rusted Horn—being awfully appropriate for the area, to which Dorian had chuckled a little. Then both of them stopped halfway across the bridge, tilting their heads in perfect unison up and to the right.

They were silent for several seconds, during which Dorian started to hear a faint beating noise above, like the flapping of great wings.

"Is that—" Finn started.

" _Dragon_ ," Nanyehi hissed. "Down!"

Blackwall and Nanyehi both dropped to a kneel, but Finn and Dorian both watched it; Finn had a fascinated look to his eyes. Dorian could clearly see the beast's dark, massive wings, the blackish flashes of leathery scales, the jagged twining of lightning-yellow marks along its length. Not to mention he could feel the stirring of air and rain as it beat its wings and let loose a shrieking roar. More cautious than fascinated now, Dorian grabbed one of Finn's shoulders and pushed, forcing them both down to kneel with Nanyehi and Blackwall.

"She's beautiful," Finn said, watching the dragon swoop overhead and continue down the coast. "Wow."

"Getting her attention would be just what we need to make this glorious day even better," Dorian said sarcastically, giving Finn's shoulder a squeeze.

Nanyehi glanced over at Finn as well. "Let's not provoke her, all right?"

Finn huffed, his wintry blue eyes narrowing a touch. "Is there a reason everyone's looking at me? I'm not crazy enough to fling myself off the bridge and run after the dragon."

Dorian certainly hoped not.

After all rising to their feet and checking the skies for any more signs of the dragon, the walk off the narrow bridge and down the muddied slope wasn't a long one. Dorian, though, wrinkled his nose in disgust at the thick squelching noise his boots made every time he lifted a foot. The fact that Finn and Nanyehi could walk in such squalor barefoot amazed him to no end.

By the time they reached the bottom of the slope, Dorian was already consumed by the longing to be back in some warm stone building with dry boots and dry armor and no chilling water pouring all over his body, and he found himself sighing heavily. That was all it took for Finn to turn his head to look back at him; then the elf's expression broke into one of those teeth-showing, infectious smiles, and Dorian felt his weather-induced misery shriveling away.

That was all it took, really—Finn had one of the best smiles Dorian had ever seen.

And it kept Dorian in a decently better mood for the duration of the walk to what used to be Crestwood Village.

It became evident upon reaching it that this village had not succumbed to the lake by choice; not that any drowned village ever _did_ , really. Old Crestwood had the air of tragedy encircling it like a funereal shroud, and if Dorian really _looked_ , he could see scattered piles of old, rotted bones strewn all over the sopping wet ground. Wandering about like little flickers of red light were aimless spirits, their filmy forms barely brushing the ground as they bobbed about between the ruined buildings, paying barely any attention to the people who had come their way.

"It's a wonder the rift didn't warp these spirits into demons," Dorian mentioned, gesturing to one.

Nanyehi looked jumpy, to say the least, but her walk didn't lose any of its determination. "Look at all of them," she said. "And all of these bones. This lake flooded _fast_. Obviously something dammed it up, but…darkspawn tampering? Really?"

"No way." Finn shook his head. "I've seen darkspawn firsthand, and so has Blackwall. You don't hide en masse like this—you either pick up your weapon or you haul arse away from them. And there's too many dead here for it to be a couple of stragglers that couldn't escape in time."

"He's right about that," Blackwall concurred.

As fascinating as all of these spirits were, Dorian couldn't help but wonder what sort of foul play had flooded the lake ten years ago. The rest of them were right; claiming for this to be the work of darkspawn randomly tampering with the damming mechanism made all of zero sense, especially with the mechanism being perfectly intact when they'd found it.

"Up there." Nanyehi pointed, then set her course north. "See that? It looks like a cave entrance. This might be what takes us underground to reach that rift." She abruptly stopped when they neared a low rise and came upon what was indeed a cave entrance in the rock face, its yawning opening boarded up by rotting planks. Her small, lanky form visibly shivered. "Ugh."

"Seconded," Finn said.

"Don't like caves?" Blackwall said.

"I hate not being able to see the sky," Nani said, setting her shoulders and soldiering forward.

"Not to mention there's always some breed of arsehole cave spider that follows you around on the ceiling and waits for the opportune moment to fall down your collar," Finn mentioned when they reached the entrance, stepping ahead of his sister to pull the old door open; Dorian watched the lean muscles flex on his tattooed arm as he did so. "And I swear they're always _big_ ones, too. It's never the little, barely visible ones."

"I'd rather have those than the horse-sized ones," Dorian said as Nanyehi and Blackwall led the way into the cave's dark interior.

"I'd rather all spiders go extinct," Finn said, waiting for Dorian to follow and then shutting the door behind all of them, sealing out the last of the light.

"Touché," Dorian said, straining to see in the dark.

He felt—and heard—Finn step away from him, his steps soft on the cave's wet, sandy floor; Finn's elven eyes were vastly superior to Dorian's when it came to things like this. Then there was a brief _whoosh_ , and flames guttered up from a large torch drilled into the cave's stone wall.

"There's a path here," Blackwall said, pointing. "And it looks manmade."

"Not to mention these torches," Dorian pointed out.

"You think people _lived_ down here?" Nani asked. Probably wanting to close the rift as fast as possible, she led the way down the path, keeping her fingers brushing the slick rock walls. "I can't even imagine. You think they might've hid from the darkspawn here?"

Finn shook his head; he was easy to locate even in the dim light, Dorian noticed, with the bright white of his hair. Thank the Maker for that—he wouldn't admit it, but Dorian liked to keep track of where he was, lest the elf sneak off into some hazardous situation and violently lose his life over it. Not likely, but Dorian wouldn't put it past Finn.

"Hide in a one-way cave with no way out?" Finn was saying. "The darkspawn would've cleared this thing out faster than me at a free buffet."

Finn and Dorian took turns lighting torches on the way through the cave passage, occasionally stepping around crumbling crates and ducking under jagged stalactites. There were a couple of the vermilion-tinged spirits wandering through the passages ahead of them, stopping whenever one of them stopped to light a torch and looking back as if waiting for them to follow. Dorian got the distinct sense that the spirits were almost leading them through, although he couldn't guess the motivation to do so.

The cave passage opened up into a large chamber, a steady stream of water pouring from the ceiling and through the cavern; Dorian noticed he couldn't hear it splashing near their feet, and a second glance brought something else to his attention: a spiraling set of planks leading downwards, obviously manmade, like Blackwall had said. Nani wordlessly led the way to those—after one of the spirits, of course, which drifted purposefully ahead of them.

She stopped when Finn broke away from them and jogged away. "Finn?" she called.

"Corpses," he called back, vanishing beyond a bend. "I don't know about you…but I don't think the water currents tied this noose in the board above me." A pause. "Or hung the— _shite!"_

There was a raucous explosion of frost, and Dorian left Nanyehi and Blackwall, jogging over to where Finn had disappeared to. When he rounded the bend, he saw Finn standing in a circular offshoot from the main chamber, three frozen corpses lying in the wet sand, staring up at a fourth corpse hanging from a noose by the shriveling sinew of its neck.

"Poor sod," Blackwall said, appearing with Nanyehi. One of the reddish spirits followed after, stopping a few meters away.

"Curious," Dorian said, studying the hanging corpse. "And rather gruesome."

"Let's say these people just happened to be in here when the lake flooded," Nani said, brushing her hand against her chin. "How would this man have had time to hang himself before the water reached him?"

"He must've done it before the flooding," Finn said, the gears visibly turning in his brain. "But…why? I've never seen someone hang themselves just to escape darkspawn. Like I said, you usually _run_. Whole towns don't go underground just to commit suicide like this."

"And look." Nani reached a steady ivory hand towards the suspended bones. "This person wasn't in bad shape when he died. Nothing's broken. It doesn't look like a _hahren's_ bones. That would be the only reason I could see someone killing themselves rather than trying to escape."

The four of them stood around the hanging corpse, all deep in thought. Then something caught Nanyehi's attention, and she jogged over to a waterlogged chest nestled near the wet stone wall, deftly picking the chest's lock and letting the lid thud back. She reached inside, pulling out a journal with faint water stains on its brown leather surface.

Apparently the chest had been decently watertight.

" _Papa looks worse today_ ," she read, staring intently down at the journal page. " _His skin is white, so white…it looks like ash. And I can see his veins all over. I keep trying to make him feel more comfortable, but he says nothing helps, and it's killing me. Sometimes when I look at him, I see this cloudiness in his eyes, and his pupils almost look white, but then he turns his face away. Mayor Dedrick said it's best for us to be down here, to keep us all safe, but Papa is miserable. Sometimes it almost feels like I'm getting sick, too…but I can't tell Papa_." Her voice softened, trailing off. "There's nothing else written here."

"Blight sickness," Blackwall said. "I'd bet my life on that."

Finn furrowed his brows. "So…what? There was someone down here who had the Blight sickness?"

There was silence for a moment.

"We're going to get to the bottom of this," Nanyehi insisted. "Once I close that rift."


	30. What Comes For Us All

In all of Finn's twenty-six years, he'd never actually _seen_ dwarven ruins before.

But here they were, beneath the cave filled with corpses, deep in the stone's core, and Finn gazed around him with a mystified look. They'd already walked a ways through the underground structures, and the dank, thin air down here was making it a little difficult to catch a full breath. But Finn's attention was caught up with other things—the thick, geometric stone architecture and polished obsidian statues against strong pillars, the dim vermilion glow of lava flowing past little slits in the walls, the smoky scents of flame and igneous rock. Whatever runes the dwarves had used here long ago, they still sang, buzzing faintly in the air like a static charge.

"It's spooky down here, isn't it?" Nani said, tilting her head up to view the cavern's high stone ceilings. "I can't imagine how dwarves spend their whole lives underground."

"Nor can I," Dorian said, looking around with the same fascinated expression Finn was fairly certain he himself had. "Years without a breath of fresh air? Preposterous."

"That's one way to say it," Blackwall grunted.

Finn suppressed a sigh. Blackwall and Dorian had been at odds for a little while, ever since Blackwall had made a comment about how much Dorian enjoyed slinging spells around. Naturally, the Tevinter mage's enthusiasm for magic seemed to bother the older Warden, and so the two had been snapping at each other over it, although Dorian's quips seemed to verge on high-brow sarcasm. By the time Dorian had pointed out that _Finn_ also enjoyed spellcasting, Nani had asked them to knock it off from the front; that had been a couple of minutes ago.

Now, Finn averted his attention to a paragon statue, studying its stern, monolithic gaze.

The rocks shifted about them with the slightest of earthen groans, and a small rain of dust showered them from above, accompanied by a few water droplets stirred loose by the shift.

Both Dorian and Finn sneezed almost simultaneously.

"It's raining outside _and_ inside," Finn said. "Ah, the wonders of nature."

"We can't win, can we?" Dorian said.

Viridescent light pulsed from Nani's left palm, and she stopped, staring down at her hand. The light flared, strengthened, and Finn saw her hand twitch a couple of times. "The rift is close by," she said, flexing her fingers. "Is everyone ready? I get the feeling this will be a big one."

When everyone nodded their consent, Nani pulled her bow off her back and jogged a few steps to an archway, stopping at the stone wall bordering it and peering through. Finn watched her brows furrow a little, and she lifted her left hand, motioning them all close.

"I was right," she said, gesturing. "Unfortunately."

Finn was a see-for-himself kind of person, so he stepped past Nani, getting a good look at the rift. This rift was indeed massive, floating just above a wide set of carved stone stairs in the middle of the lowlit chamber ahead. There was already a myriad of dark, oozing shades and green-tinged wraiths meandering around it, stirring the still, silty waters pooling in the chamber.

"Plentiful, but weak," Blackwall mentioned. "We can take them."

Nani signaled within. "Head in first, Blackwall. Get their attention on your shield. Dorian and I will pick them off from back here. Finn…do whatever Vivienne's been asking you to do."

She didn't want to sabotage Finn's knight-enchanter training with her own caution, it seemed. He nodded, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Then Blackwall rushed in, clanging his shield to draw the demons' attentions, and Finn ran after him, only stopping to throw a barrier around himself.

Despite Blackwall's tanking, a couple of the wraiths noticed Finn immediately; bits of shimmering green spirit magic shot from their wispy forms and exploded against him, making him stagger back a step. The barrier held firm, at least, or that deceptively pretty spirit magic might've burnt a hole in his chest. Not about to be outfought, Finn fired a stonefist at one, briefly watching its form mist upwards into nothingness before he turned on the other.

Dorian's fireball caught the other one before Finn could even begin a spell. He glanced over at Dorian, but the Tevinter mage had already turned his focus to a shade nearby.

They just _kept coming_. Finn lost track of how many shades and wraiths the rift spat out. No wonder Crestwood Village was nearly swallowed up with corpses—from the sheer amount of demons coming from this rift, Finn was surprised there weren't _more_ possessed undead staggering and creaking towards the village.

A particularly large shade came at Finn and swung; he dove out of the way and somersaulted back to his feet, nearly getting a mouthful of dirty water in the process. He didn't waste much time raising a hand and blasting the thing with a stream of lightning magic; the creature writhed and sunk down into oblivion.

The rift shuddered, spitting out a handful of wraiths.

"It's too strong to close!" Nani yelled from somewhere in the throng, her voice echoing around the cavern. "Need more time!"

They didn't have much of a choice in the matter, regardless; this rift didn't seem like it wanted to go down without a vicious fight. A sharp, ear-splitting keening sounded from within the rift, and out burst a tall, willowy green demon, its talons flexing outwards as it screamed.

Terror demon—no mistaking that. The last time Finn had seen a terror demon, it had ripped a claw straight through his back and out the other end.

His jaw involuntarily clenched, his throat tightening. Healed into a scar as it was, the injury suddenly felt white-hot, like it had ripped open all over again. Finn knew it was all in his head…but still.

He growled under his breath and hurled an ice spike at the damned thing.

It turned its grotesque head to him, raised its arms as if about to attack, and then plunged into the ground beneath them, leaving behind a thin trail of green essence. Finn took a step back, looking around for it.

He didn't have enough time to jump out of the way before the demon burst from the ground beneath him, flinging him up in the air and sending him crashing to the ground a couple yards away with a loud splash. Finn pushed himself out of the water as quick as he could to avoid drowning in it, groping around for his staff— _there_. Raking his wet hair away from his forehead, he took a step away from the demon and raised his staff high, making ice creep up along the thing's legs.

Not good enough. It was still striding towards him, and Finn knew running wasn't exactly an option here. He grit his teeth together, reaching into his mana reserves for another spell.

"Another one coming through!" Nani yelled.

Finn spared a glance to the rift, his breath catching. There, reaching out of the rift's yawning opening, was the long, muscled, scythed arm of a pride demon.

 _Shite_.

"Anyone else rethinking their life choices thus far?" Dorian yelled from not far away from Finn, as Finn leapt back away from the terror demon and shot more ice at it.

"Vividly!" Finn shouted back.

Nani didn't answer, but there was a harsh _crack_ from her direction; Finn watched her hand raise trembling in the air like it had taken on a life of its own, and then the rift reacted.

It was quick, immediate, a pulling sensation. The pride demon's arm sucked back into the rift, and the terror demon flailed its spindly limbs, the pull dragging its towering body back towards the rift. Finn watched it get sucked closer and closer to it, until he realized the force was starting to pull _him_ towards it too.

He must've been too close. He tried to step back, but his feet skidded on the wet stone, and the rift sucked him even closer just as the terror demon shrieked and vanished within. Finn turned and lunged away, but the rift yanked at him, toppling him off his feet.

"Nani!" he shouted, trying to locate her even as his hands groped for a piece of ground he could cling to. The rift sucked him backwards, and he scrabbled for a handhold. _"Nani! Stop!"_

"I… _can't!"_ she yelled, and he saw her standing there, pushing down on her left arm with all her might. It didn't budge.

 _"Finn!"_ Dorian yelled.

Finn skidded against the wet stones, fighting the pull as best he could, frantically grabbing at the much-too-flat ground beneath him. A few more seconds, and the force would lift him off the ground and suck him into the rift…

His sister audibly hissed, and there was a crashing and tumbling noise from her direction; the rift behind Finn shut with a pop, and he collapsed flat on his stomach, his breaths coming quick and heavy.

Dorian reached him first, uttering a rough "Sweet Maker, you're all right," before offering Finn both hands and helping him to his feet. Finn didn't have much time to respond or even make a facial expression before Dorian's arms circled him tightly, crushing them both together chest-to-chest; Finn grabbed onto the back of Dorian's armor, digging his nails into it and steadying himself.

Neither Nani nor Blackwall interrupted them for several seconds.

"That was a close call," Finn eventually said, his words muffled into Dorian's shoulder.

"I'll say," Dorian said.

No jokes this time. Finn felt the need to wait at least a minute or so before cracking an inappropriate joke about the situation—his body was still recovering, after all.

"Creators," Nani said, and Finn finally pulled away from Dorian, looking over at her. Her face was stark white, her dark hair streaked with dirty water, her eyes wide and horrified. "Finn, I'm _so_ sorry. Are you okay?"

"What _was_ that?" Finn asked, breathing out a heavy breath through his nose.

"I think my hand reacted of its own accord to the pride demon trying to come through," she said, staring down at her left palm like it was some sort of cancerous growth. "I've never felt that before. And I couldn't get it to _stop_. Believe me, Finn, I—"

"She threw herself down to stop the pulling," Blackwall said, sheathing his sword.

So that was the crashing noise Finn had heard: Nani essentially tackling herself to the ground to sever her Anchor's connection with the rift.

Finn shook his head to clear it. "It's not your fault, Nani. It's the Anchor's. It got out of control. Don't blame yourself."

Her expression told him she was doing just that—blaming herself. "I won't let it happen again," she said determinedly. "Blackwall, you're a Warden. You know how to follow orders. If that ever happens again, if someone is about to get sucked into a rift and I can't stop the pull, cut my hand off."

Dorian made an incredulous noise.

"Mi'lady, your—" Blackwall began, his eyes narrowing.

"I will _not_ lose my brother to this… _thing_ ," Nani spat, clenching her hand. She sucked in a breath. "If you need to rest a moment, Finn, go ahead…I can imagine you need it."

"I'm all right," Finn insisted, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tight muscles there. "Let's just get the hell out of this cavern."

Nani nodded. "No arguments here."

* * *

Even halfway to Crestwood Village, Finn couldn't get over how quickly the weather had changed.

Gone were the clouds laden with storm, the errant lightning strikes, the lashing of rain and wind. The sky was a sunny blue expanse now, interrupted by the occasional wisp of white cloud, and the sun shone bright on their backs, thawing them from their jaunt underground. Finn could tell Dorian was already more relaxed, now that he had a chance to dry off. He glanced at Nani as she walked ahead of them, and saw her shoulders were still rigid as ever, her gait stiff—she still hadn't forgiven herself for Finn nearly being dragged into the Beyond, it seemed.

She may not have remembered a lot, but she'd been there herself, bodily. And she'd already promised to take drastic measures to spare Finn the same fate. Hopefully her Anchor wouldn't make the rift pull like that again; Finn wasn't too keen on letting his sister lose a hand over it.

Finn spotted two familiar figures ahead on the road—River and Varric, walking towards them. He found himself relieved that the two of them hadn't died in the undead onslaught on Crestwood Village.

"Everything is all hunky dory, Inquisitor," River said when they reached each other. Her inky black hair was beginning to dry out, and she pulled out the leather tie, shaking it loose around her shoulders. "Scout Harding and the other agents should be occupying Caer Bronach right now. We also saw the rift die out, from the surface, and the corpses have stopped coming—bravo. _Now_ people are starting to complain about the dragon overhead, but, you know…one thing at a time."

"Maker's balls," Blackwall said. "That was fast."

"I need to have a word with the mayor," Nani said, glancing past them. "Does anyone mind if we make a quick stop back at the village?"

"About that…" River said, trailing off.

"He bailed, probably while we were taking the fort," Varric said, handing Nani a water-spotted piece of paper. "This was lying on his desk."

Nani unfolded the paper, reading it. A moment later her expression tightened, and she handed the letter to Finn, obviously not wanting to repeat whatever was in it. He squinted to read it, and Dorian peered over his shoulder.

_Inquisitor Lavellan,_

_It was not darkspawn that opened the dam and flooded Old Crestwood ten years ago. I did, in secret, the night they attacked. The undead you've been fighting are people I killed with my own hands._

_We'd taken in refugees from the Blight. Many were ill. We moved the sick to the lower part of Crestwood, and the refugees into the caves, to stop the disease from spreading. It didn't work. One confessed he'd seen Blight sickness before. It was always fatal. When the darkspawn attacked, I knew the only way the village would survive was if the blight-sick drowned with the monsters._

Finn stopped reading after that.

"I'll summarize, so we don't have to keep passing this around," Finn said, his good mood plummeting. "We were right to speculate about that hanging corpse in the caves. The mayor herded the refugees and Blight-sick down there and drowned them all along with the attacking darkspawn ten years ago."

"Despicable," Blackwall snapped.

River looked lost in thought, for a moment.

"My good friend's first husband died from that," she said. "From Blight-sickness, while we were escaping Lothering. Had Aveline not killed him, he would have suffered terribly. I'm not condoning the practice of drowning a whole village like that…but what if he hadn't done it? What if it had infected the whole village? I don't _know."_

Varric shook his head. "All those people. Trapped in there while the water rose. Just terrible."

 _What would I have done?_ Finn thought. If he became Keeper and half of his clan caught the sickness…what then? There was always the danger of the disease spreading. Would he have just trapped them underground with the very monsters that had made them sick and purged them under a lake? People deserved more honorable deaths than that.

Nani seemed to be thinking the same things.

"He'll have left traces of where he went," she eventually said. "Leliana can track him down. No matter what, I want him brought in for questioning."

"That's fair," River said. "Hopefully our little corpse friends haven't wobbled all the way over to where Stroud is, because he's rather important to speak to."

"Well," Nani said, "if there's still any left…let's beat them over there."

* * *

River halted them just outside a cave reaching into the side of a rock face, holding up her palm in the universal gesture for _don't-step-beyond-this-point_. "Let me go in first," she said. "Stroud will recognize me. He's been a little on edge—rightfully so—and we don't need the Inquisitor shanked within two seconds flat."

"Unless we're in the mood for a violent _coup d'état_ ," Finn said.

"I've seen enough of those," Varric said with a light chuckle.

"Finn," Dorian said, "exactly how many Orlesian words do you actually know?"

"I'm fluent," Finn said. He cleared his throat. " _Croissant baguette escargot cabernet sauvignon Val Chevin_."

River burst into a sort of snorting laughter and thumped her hand loudly on her thigh a couple of times, drowning out Varric's snickering. Nani and Blackwall looked at each other with a matching deadpan expression, although the corner of Nani's mouth was threatening to twist upwards.

Dorian just sniggered and quickly raked a hand through Finn's hair, combing it into decency. "It's a wonder we get anything done with you people around."

"You asked," Finn said.

Nani just reached over to grab Finn's hand, squeezing it. "Every time I slightly want to strangle you, I'm just going to remind myself you're still _here."_

Finn fell silent. So she was still stewing over nearly sucking him into a rift; he supposed he couldn't fault her for that. He briefly threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed back, then let his hand drop. The gesture and her words sobered him up pretty quick; maybe it was still too soon to be cracking dumb jokes.

"Let's go," River said, motioning them forward; Nani walked directly behind her, and the rest of them followed after, entering the cooling darkness of the cave.

The steady trickle of water from the cave ceilings was a soothing noise in Finn's ears as he walked, moist sand digging between his toes with each step. The whole passage had a sort of iridescent bluish glow from little pockets of deep mushroom clinging to the rocks. He swiped his fingers along the wet, lumpy side of a stalagmite, watching River and Nani walk ahead of him.

Both women passed through the open door of a flimsy wooden barricade, River holding her hand in front of Nanyehi and keeping her slightly behind her. "Stroud?" River called. "It's me. Hawke. I brought the Inquisitor."

Finn passed through the door, taking in the entirety of the small cavern with his eyes—the broken crates and pieces of old fishing net lying about, the random assortment of what looked like clay skulls sitting amongst the grayish stalagmites. Whatever smugglers had been in here before Stroud, they'd left a lot of junk behind. Then he spotted a man in Warden's armor emerging from behind a rock pillar, and Finn studied him.

Middle-aged or older, fair skin, proud bearing, and the most impressive, full moustache Finn had ever seen. He didn't voice anything aloud, though; Creators knew he wasn't keen on giving Dorian moustache-envy.

The Warden nodded his head once, and Finn saw the shadows under his eyes. "My name is Stroud," he said, "and I am at your service, Inquisitor."

"No need," Nani said, stepping up to stand beside River. "I'm just appreciative of your help. We're in dire need of it, if the Wardens are in trouble. But that begs the question—how in trouble _are_ they? Do you think this has anything to do with Corypheus?"

"I fear it is so," Stroud said, his mouth twisting into a frown. "When Hawke slew Corypheus, Weisshaupt was happy to put the matter to rest. But an archdemon can survive wounds that seem fatal, and I feared Corypheus might possess the same power."

 _"Shite,"_ Nani said. "What are you saying? Along with everything else, does he have all the powers of an archdemon?"

And did that mean another Blight was already in the works? As exhilarating as the battle for the Fifth Blight had been, Finn didn't want to march off to fight in another of those.

"Some, it seems," Stroud answered. He paced. "My investigation uncovered clues…but no proof. Then, not long after, every Warden in Orlais began to hear the Calling…to different degrees."

"Maker's shiny buttocks, Stroud," River cursed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Only the Orlesian Wardens?" Nani asked. "Or Fereldan as well? And what is this Calling?"

Stroud sighed heavily. "In truth, it seems the Calling originated with the Orlesian Wardens. The Calling, Inquisitor, tells a Warden that the Blight will soon claim them. Eventually, the taint in our blood poisons us. Once we hear it, we do not have much time to live."

"But has it spread?" Nani asked.

"It is a possibility." Stroud nodded. "This _was_ a private Warden matter, but I see no reason to keep it that way any longer. Both Warden-Commanders of Ferelden and Orlais are mages, as you know. And it seems this Calling has affected the mages the most. The rest of us, we have nightmares, hear the singing…but the mages hear it _worse."_

River loudly dug the toe of her boot into the sand. "If the Calling is coming from Corypheus, though…"

"It may be contrived," Stroud answered. "Regardless, Warden-Commander Clarel de Chanson took it very seriously when last we Wardens met. The things she suggested…blood magic, demons…it disgusted me. She and Warden-Commander Nalida argued over it. Then he took a group of Fereldan Wardens and all but left the Order. When I in turn voiced my disapproval of her ideas, I was also marked a traitor."

"Do _you_ remember anything more?" Finn asked, turning his head to Blackwall.

The Warden-Constable abruptly looked uncomfortable, to put it mildly. He shook his head with a somber look, offering no other explanation to Finn. Nani was too focused on questioning Stroud, though, to notice Blackwall's expression.

 _Is Blackwall hearing the Calling too?_ Finn wondered. If only he could recognize signs of it. But the fact that Blackwall wasn't speaking up during the discussion, and Stroud hadn't even acknowledged him…odd. All kinds of odd.

"So," Nani said, "whether or not this Calling that Corypheus created is false, it's driven the Orlesian Wardens to crazy lengths."

"Correct," Stroud said. "If every Warden falls to the Calling, who will stand against the next Blight? It is our greatest fear."

"So Corypheus is bluffing the Wardens," River said with an uncharacteristic sneer. "Dickbag."

Stroud was silent a moment. "Like I said, it is a great possibility. But could this sort of Calling still cause deaths? We cannot know for certain. The mages are especially panicked, and for good reason."

"Then we have to get the Wardens out from under him, if that's the case," Nani said, with enough conviction in her voice that for a moment, it almost seemed _reasonable_. Easy. "Where are they? What can we do?"

"They've gathered in the Western Approach," Stroud explained. "And I suggest we seek them out immediately, before something truly terrible happens."


	31. A Moment's Respite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of fun before shit hits the fan! :P

Nanyehi had a lot to think about at the moment.  Naturally, coming across Varric and Cassandra trying to duke it out above Skyhold’s smithy had really compounded the problem; she’d settled it without anything coming to blows, thankfully, although Cassandra had certainly attempted one.  Now both women sat facing each other on opposite wooden benches, Varric-less, Cassandra sighing and looking down at her clasped, gauntleted hands.

“Conniving little shit,” she cursed, shaking her head.  “I should have known he knew exactly where the Champion was.  I had thought they were connected, you know—Hawke’s disappearance.  The disappearance of the Hero of Ferelden and the Warden-Commander.  The three people Leliana and I had searched for to lead the Inquisition.  But it was just _Varric_ hiding _Hawke_ from us.”

“Cassandra—” Nani started.

“If _anyone_ could have saved Most Holy at the Conclave…” Cassandra said, her eyes narrowing, her mood spitting fire.  “Queen Cousland-Theirin could have.  Warden Nalida could have.  And _Hawke_ could have.”

Nani’s sigh was decidedly heavier than any of Cassandra’s had been.  “I’m sorry, Cassandra.”

“If I’d just _explained_ what was at _stake,”_ Cassandra continued.  “If I’d just made him understand _…_ But maybe he is right.  Maybe Hawke would have died at the Conclave instead.  And I would have been responsible for her death, for bringing her to Haven.”

Nani gripped her own knees, absently digging her fingers into the legs of her breeches.  Cassandra’s disappointment was obvious, a heavy, clouded weight in the room and on Nani’s shoulders.  No doubt it hadn’t been the Seeker’s first choice to name a sour-tempered Dalish woman as Inquisitor.  She looked down briefly, then back up, clearing her throat a number of times before she spoke.  “She’s here now, at the very least.  Maybe she isn’t the Inquisitor, but…it’s something.”

“It is.”  Cassandra’s expression softened minutely.   “But something troubles you too, I see.”

Many things did.  But Nani could pinpoint just one of them for now.

“Are you unhappy with the way things turned out?” Nani asked.  “Aside from the obvious Corypheus problem and everything.”

“I have no regrets, Nanyehi.”  Cassandra’s deep brown eyes held hers.  “I want you to know that.  Maybe if we’d found Hawke, or Palla Cousland, or Corvis Nalida…or even Shesi Mahariel or Ellairia Surana…the Maker wouldn’t have needed to send _you_.”

A stroke of tact made Nani refrain from reminding Cassandra how greatly their religious beliefs differed.  She focused instead on Cassandra’s other words, and found a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.  “And you’re not regretting that the—that it was _me?”_

“No.”  Cassandra shook her head, a flicker of light coming in from a window and dancing off the midnight black of her hair.  “I don’t know how it will end.  But I would have it no other way.”

“That’s awfully kind of you,” Nani said.

Cassandra laughed, a little roughly.  “Those aren’t empty words, you know.”  She reached out to grip Nani’s shoulder and squeeze it.  “You are exactly what we’ve needed—what _I’ve_ needed, sometimes.  I consider you a friend, and I don’t consider many as such.”

She was like Nani, then, if her words were any indication.  And the idea of Nani having a friend in Cassandra was, well…it made her happy, to say the least.

“I’d say the same,” Nani said.  She chuckled lightly.  “Can you _imagine_ Hawke as the Inquisitor, though?”

Cassandra laughed.  “I don’t know what I was thinking, now that I’ve truly met her.  She is a kind, generous woman, but she has about as much tact and social grace as I do.  I believe Josephine would be working twice as hard as usual to settle all of the offended dignitaries.”

“And poor Josephine already works hard enough,” Nani said.

“That she does.”  Cassandra stood.  “Thank you for sitting with me, Nanyehi.  My head is a little clearer now.”

“And mine,” Nani said.

* * *

Nani meditated up in a tree in Skyhold’s fledgling garden for the next hour or so.  Calmed her body, purged her mind of the worries that had been plaguing her, clawing at her insides like a parasite.  True meditation wasn’t an easy thing, but Nani made herself do it; she needed this.  Occasionally she sent a prayer to the Creators, locked away as they were, as if they could hear her thoughts.

The garden was blissfully silent when she opened her eyes and stretched her arms above her head, popping her back.  A songbird warbled its happy song a few branches above her, the sky was a crystal-blue expanse over the mountains, the wind felt crisp against her skin.  She’d always loved the color green, and it was everywhere here: the new leaves on the trees, the waving grasses. 

And the garden was mostly empty, too—that is, until she noticed something going on at the opposite corner of the garden’s grounds.

She could see a game board of sorts, with bicolored checkered squares, resting on a small square table.  And sitting at the table were Cullen and Dorian; Cullen was leaning over the board, scratching his chin, while Dorian was leaning back in his chair with a self-satisfied look on his face.  Another glance told her Finn was there too, if only from the flash of white hair she saw through the tree branches.

Curious, she jumped down from the tree and decided to approach them.

“You see how he’s moving that pawn to that square, Finn?” Dorian was saying; as Nani came closer, she saw Finn leaning over the back of Dorian’s chair, intently watching the board.  “And do you see what a silly move that is?  He’s setting himself up for failure.”

Whatever game this was, Nani knew neither she nor Finn had been taught to play it in their clan; Dorian appeared to be teaching Finn the basics.  Or just giving Cullen crap.  Either way, Finn looked fascinated by it.  Her brother had always loved games.

“Am I?” Cullen said with a low chuckle, setting the ebony piece down on a different square.  “Gloat all you like.  I have this one.”

“Are you _sassing_ me, Commander?” Dorian teased.  “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Why do I even—” Cullen began.  But he must have noticed Nani when she stepped up onto the stone gazebo and joined them, because he pulled his hands away from the board with a start.  “Nanyehi.  Did you require something?”

“Just came to say hello,” she said, loosely crossing her wiry arms under her chest.  “Having fun?”

“I believe he’d be enjoying himself more if he had a chance at winning,” Dorian said, smirking.

“I believe I’d have more of a chance if you didn’t cheat your way through every game,” Cullen told Dorian, finishing his move and leaning back in his chair.

“Dorian,” Finn said, resting both hands on the back of Dorian’s chair, “if you’ve been teaching me wrongful cheat-rules this entire time, I will end you.”

“No need for that, silly.”  Dorian laughed good-naturedly.  “Have _you_ got a suggestion for my next move?”

Finn studied the board, his pale blue eyes narrowing just slightly in thought.  “That one,” he said, gesturing.  “The decapitated horse head.  Move it there.”

“The knight?” Dorian corrected with a fond smile.  “You can pick up the game in minutes, but the names continue to escape you.”  He considered it.  “Hmm, that should do.”  He plucked up the ivory piece and moved it, setting it down with a resounding click.

From the look on Cullen’s face, he hadn’t expected that move…and it might actually have changed the game’s outcome.  _Maybe._

“It worked, right?” Finn answered Dorian, smiling.

“So you say,” Cullen said, moving another piece, one that looked like a castle tower.

Nani watched Finn, smiling to herself.  Her brother had it _bad,_ from the way his eyes lit up every time Dorian so much as _spoke_ …but she had no right to judge, seeing as Cullen’s voice kept doing things to her insides that she hadn’t really ever experienced before.

Not that she’d share such a thought. With anyone.  Ever.

“You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory,” Dorian told Cullen.  “You’ll feel much better when you do.”

“Yours and _Finn’s,_ you mean?” Cullen said.  “I don’t think that sort of joint victory counts.  Especially since you wouldn’t have come up with that move without Finn’s help.”

“You wound me,” Dorian said.

“Well, he’s giving _me_ an ego boost,” Finn said.

Dorian laughed, moving one of his pieces.  “I suppose I’ll have to settle for that.”

Cullen just gave a sort of tolerant half-laugh and picked up an ebony piece, plinking it down elsewhere on the board.  “And you know what’s funny?” he said, smirking.  “I believe I just won.  And I feel _fine.”_

“Now, now, don’t get smug,” Dorian said, his grey eyes raking over the board.  “Drat.  He _did_ win, Finn.  There will be _no_ living with him.”

“Oh well.”  Finn patted Dorian’s shoulder.  “You done for the day?”

“Quite.”  Dorian stood.  “Not to mention that wine I got for you finally came in.  Because you won the bet, remember?  It’s a sangiovese.  Smooth.  You’ll like it.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Finn said, following Dorian down the gazebo steps and away from Nani and Cullen.

Cullen looked up at Nani, and she forced herself to not let her eyes trail to the scar on his lip.

“I should return to my duties as well,” he said.  “Unless you’d care for a game?”

“I don’t know an ounce of it,” she confessed, sitting in the chair Dorian had just vacated anyway.  “I don’t even know what it’s called.”

“Ah!  My mistake.”  Cullen looked apologetic.  “It’s called chess.  Would you like me to teach you the rules?”

“Another time, I think,” she said.  “I’d like that.  But I wanted to talk, first.”

Cullen leaned both elbows on the table.  “Of course.”

“How are things?” she asked.  “You know…with you?  Personally?”

Cullen didn’t answer for a moment or so.  “I was expecting you to bring up something Inquisition-related,” he said.  “But I can’t say I’m bothered that you didn’t.  Everything has been well.  It’s a fine day.”

“It is,” Nani agreed.  How many times was she going to wish in this lifetime that she’d asked Finn to coach her in making conversation?  She cleared her throat. 

“Was that you sleeping up in the tree earlier?” Cullen asked.

Nani bit the inside of her cheek.  “Meditating, actually.  I needed to clear my head.  Badly.  But, yes—that was me.”

“I know how that feels,” Cullen said, chuckling wryly.  “Are you feeling better, then?”

She nodded immediately, hoping that Cullen wasn’t pitying her or anything like that; the last thing she wanted to appear was weak.  “Things have just been a little crazy lately.  You know how it is.  But, I… I think it’s nice, talking about something other than the Inquisition.”

“As do I,” Cullen said, giving her a soft smile.

It would be an understatement to say Nani didn’t know how to handle this—the warm brown eyes fixed attentively on her, the patient listening, the way a smile kept creeping onto his lips.  And yet, she found herself _wanting_ to handle it.  Wanting to throw herself fully into the unknown, whether or not Cullen wanted the same things.  If one of her clanmates had told her, a while ago, that she’d end up being flustered by a _shemlen_ man, she’d have scoffed.  But now…how quickly things changed.

“I’d like to do this more often,” she said.  “Talk, I mean.”

“I’d like that,” he said.

“So would I,” she blurted out.

Cullen chuckled.  “You said so.”

Nani’s face nearly flamed at that.  But she forced herself not to fidget, not to walk away from the one thing she didn’t know how to do.  She wanted to chat with him, and so she _would._ No more being a baby.

And when the sun started to set over Skyhold’s garden, they were still chatting away.

 


	32. Shadows in the Desert Sun

"I think I've got sand in my boots," Dorian said.

"I think I've got sand in my  _hair,"_ Finn said.

"It's down my armor," River said.

"It's down my—" Iron Bull began.

" _No,"_ Nani said. "I know exactly where you were going with that, Bull, and none of us need that much information."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. Stroud just sighed.

"Way to ruin it, Boss," Iron Bull said.

Nani just huffed the quietest of laughs through her nose.

They'd been trekking through the vast expanses of the Western Approach for hours today, Finn realized. And this certainly wasn't the first day they'd been here. He shifted the pack on his shoulder, hearing the canteen of water slosh about inside. Everywhere he looked he saw the pale gold of sand, felt it sifting and sinking beneath his feet, hot and gritty. Even the reddish clay cliff faces, jutting jaggedly all over the landscape, did nothing to hide the searing stare of the white-hot sun above, and Finn's skin felt like he'd gone skinny-dipping in lava. Thankfully, he had a good enough tan that he likely wouldn't burn here; Dorian would be safe, as well, but none of the others had dark enough skin to get out of the desert unscathed.

Except maybe Iron Bull—did Qunari sunburn? Finn honestly had no idea.

A hawk cried overhead, circling briefly before tilting its outspread wings and flying off into the vivid blue of the sky. Finn stepped over a drab grayish chaparral bush. There seemed to be no shortage of those here, either—they were probably the only plants that could survive in such a desolate area.

_The ass end of Thedas,_ Varric called this. It was Orlesian turf, technically, so Finn wasn't inclined to disagree with that.

Despite her altercations with Varric before they'd left—which Nani had told Finn about—Cassandra had wanted to accompany them to the Western Approach, and Nani had looked pleased with that. River, Varric, and Stroud had joined, naturally, as had Finn and Dorian; when Varric had asked Dorian why he  _always_ felt the need to accompany Finn  _everywhere,_ Dorian had given him a choice ' _that-question-was-stupid-and-you-know-it'_ look, then asked Varric why he followed Hawke around like a little lost dwarf-puppy.

Obviously, that little back-and-forth had ended on a draw.

The last to join their party had been Iron Bull, who'd jumped at the chance to, quote, "kick sense into some Wardens." Finn rather hoped they wouldn't have to physically  _mash_ sensibility into the Wardens' heads, if they even did find them out here, but anything could happen.

"Is your clan from around Starkhaven?" River asked Finn and Nani now.

"Close to it," Nani said over her shoulder. "Why?"

"Your accents. You sound like it," River said. She jerked a thumb in Finn's direction. "This one sounds like someone I used to know."

"Someone  _we_ used to know, if you're talking about Choir Boy," Varric said. "Frosty, do me a favor. I want to see how similar your voices are. Say something  _really_  Andrastian."

Finn cleared his throat. "May the Maker's grace bless our potatoes, and our heads rest forever against Andraste's holy bosom."

River and Varric both chuckled to each other.

"That's  _uncanny,"_ Varric said.

"I doubt Sebastian would've said  _that,_ exactly," River said, "but  _damn_. Creepily similar, isn't it?"

"Aye, lassie," Finn drawled, just to emphasize the accent even further.

Dorian rolled his eyes dramatically at that, and everyone fell silent for a while.

After a few more minutes Nani stopped them all for a mandatory water break; Finn retrieved the canteen from his pack and took a long gulp. The water was already lukewarm, and nearly gone, so he planted his hand flat on the opening and seeped ice into the canteen, filling it completely. The desert heat would melt it into water soon enough.

"Stroud," Nani said, "how close are we? You said you're pretty certain of where we'll find these Wardens."

"There should be some at the old ritual tower I mentioned," Stroud said, shielding his eyes from the sun with a hand. "We are not far, I believe."

Finn watched a black, scaled phoenix trot across a sand dune nearby, its plumed tail streaming behind it. There were creatures all over this desert, and every single one of them would happily feast on their group. Luckily, the phoenix decided to leave them alone…for now.

A hot wind briefly gusted over a ridge, misting a film of sand over them. Finn just ducked his head briefly and waited it out, blinking when he couldn't feel it spattering against him any longer.

He felt rather like a wilted plant in this weather, whereas it seemed Dorian was doing well in the heat. Finn was just happy only  _one_ of them wanted to burrow ten feet below the sand and wait until nightfall.

It was  _certainly_ a change from the winter ice he so thrived in.

"Let's go," Nani said after a few minutes, tucking her own canteen back into her pack and setting off. Her ivory skin already had a faint pinkish tinge to it; she'd burn even more if they stayed in the sun like this, and Finn couldn't see any feasible way of finding shade for quite a while.

"That thing in the distance…it's getting clearer," River said as they walked, shading her eyes. "That jagged thing. Is that the ritual area, Stroud?"

"I believe so," the Warden said.

"That, or a mirage," Varric said.

"Does anyone need to rest longer?" Nani asked, probably triggered by Varric mentioning mirages. "It's all right if you need to. We need to be in good shape when we're fighting."

_When_ they would be fighting. At this point, Nani—and Finn, if he admitted it—seemed to be fairly certain there was no  _if._

But no one voiced a need to slow down and rest.

A few more minutes of trekking made it clear to Finn that this  _was_ the ritual area Stroud had spoken of, and they weren't far away from it. It was a spiked, desolate ruin of a building, broken down into what looked like two separate chunks, and on one of them Finn spotted a wide set of stairs. In the middle of the two was a sandstone bridge spanning a small chasm between; the rightmost tower no longer even looked like a tower, just a steep pile of rubble.

"They may have already started the ritual, whatever that might be," Stroud said as they reached the rightmost tower, stopping under what used to be a doorway. Finn peered past him down the path to the leftmost, but couldn't see anything yet through the sunny, dusty haze. "Take caution, Inquisitor."

"As always," Nani said.

"I'll guard your backs," River said, gesturing them forward. "Let's get this tomfoolery over with."

Nani squared her shoulders and stepped through the doorway, heading across the bridge and to the stairs; Finn took position directly behind her.

"Warden-Commander Clarel's orders were clear!" Finn heard from the top of the tower—the voice was snide, prickly like a cactus.

"This is wrong!" a frightened voice answered.

The snide voice continued. "Remember your oath—in war, victory; in peace, vigilance; in death…"

The sound of metal sliding through armor and into flesh hit Finn's ears. A pained yell.

"…sacrifice."

There was a rumbling and a guttural, demonic grumble; Finn picked up his pace as Nani broke into a jog to ascend the stairs. Their haste made the climb a fast one, and when Finn crested the top of the stairs after Nani and stepped onto the flat sandstone top of the tower, he nearly stopped in his tracks.

Demons. Standing  _calmly_ beside several Grey Warden mages, all in perfect linear formation. The sickening pulse of power in his veins told him they'd been using heavy amounts of blood magic here—not to mention the warrior corpse one Warden mage was shoving to the side of the tower with his boot, and the pile of dead bodies he was pushing it  _to._ The air reeked of the stench of death, the miasma of magic and human blood. At the top of another set of stairs was a man with armored mage robes, wavy black hair pulled into a messy ponytail.

"Inquisitor!" the man greeted in a disarmingly friendly voice as Nani strode forward. "What an unexpected pleasure. Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service." He performed a proper bow, smiling when Nani stopped and leaned her weight on one hip.

Hadn't Dorian studied at Vyrantium? Finn glanced over at him, watching Dorian's expression twist into displeasure. "Another stain on my country," Dorian muttered, low enough for only Finn to hear.

" _Well,"_ River said. "If  _you're_ a Warden, then I'm a bowl of mixed leafy greens."

"He is no Warden," Stroud said, obviously ignoring River's odd greeting.

"Ah. One of the traitors Clarel let slip," Erimond said, snickering and briefly fixing his squinty eyes on Stroud. "Deduced that yourself, did you? And you found Inquisitor Lavellan and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?"

"Why don't  _we_ tell  _you_ how it's gonna go?" Bull said.

Erimond returned his gaze to Nani. "Inquisitor, if you would, reign in your  _cow."_

Bull grunted under his breath.

"Blood magic, I see," Nani said, making a sweeping motion with her hand. "Are you proud of yourself, summoning a few demons?"

"A few demons?" Erimond burst into laughter. "You are  _so_  delightfully shortsighted. No, no, no. Let me show you something much more remarkable than this  _few demons._ " He lifted a gauntleted hand in the air. "Wardens—hands up."

In perfect unison, in perfect silence, each Warden lifted their left hand to exactly the same height, then slowly lowered their arms when Erimond uttered the command to.

That was disturbing.

"Creators' balls," Finn hissed under his breath. This was no simple demon-binding blood magic. Whatever ritual they'd been doing until now…it had taken these Wardens' minds as well. Rather well-played, on Corypheus's part. If this truly was his doing, at least.

Nani was silent.

"And the most remarkable part of all this," Erimond said, sneering, "is that they did this to themselves. You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked  _everywhere_ for help."

"Even  _Tevinter,"_ River said, scrubbing her forehead with the heel of her palm.

"What an intelligent bunch you have," Erimond told Nani.

"Enough games," Nani said. "How did you do this?"

"Such a demanding little rabbit," Erimond said. "You must be an absolute  _bore_ at parties. You see—all it took was my master putting that Calling into their poor, frightened heads. And then I went to the Warden-Commanders.  _Clarel_ was reasonable. That Antivan idiot they have governing the Fereldan Wardens just strung together a bunch of silly foreign words and gave me a lewd hand gesture. Positively rude. But  _Clarel_ and I were able to come up with a plan—raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake."

"Oh,  _come on,"_ Finn said. "That is the most ludicrous shite I've ever heard."

"But they fell right for it, didn't they?" River said. "They've gone mad."

"And we saw it in Redcliffe, right?" Nani said. "The demon army, remember? That's what actually happened—they just didn't go to the Deep Roads. Obviously."

"How could we forget?" Dorian said.

Erimond actually seemed confused for a second. "You all knew about it, did you?"

"Aye," Finn drawled. "Does that get your silky knickers in a bunch?"

Erimond looked at Finn like he was the most infuriating elf he'd ever witnessed, then rolled his eyes, fixing his attention on Nani once more. "Well, then, here you are. Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect: they're now my master's slaves."

Just because Finn had already guessed this, didn't mean it sounded any less horrifying.

"This was but a test," Erimond said. "Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas."

It was no wonder Corypheus had gone after the Orlesian Wardens, then; their Fereldan branch was vastly smaller in number.

"Why see the world fall to a  _Blight?"_ Nani snapped. She looked taut as a wire. "How could any of us benefit,  _even you,_ from such a thing?"

"The Elder One commands the Blight," Erimond said, as if that should be obvious. "He is not commanded  _by_ it, like the mindless darkspawn. The Blight is not unstoppable or uncontrollable. It is merely a tool."

"Just like  _you_  are," a woman's voice said.

It was as if she'd appeared out of thin air, stepping up the last step to stand next to them, a few feet away—a petite, lithe, olive-skinned elven woman, her chocolate brown hair cropped to her shoulders, ruffled and adorned with several little braids; on multiple leather straps of her form-fitting armor clinked small throwing knives and darts, and two wicked daggers gleamed at her belt, their hilts polished ironbark. There was a matching ironbark bow at her back, and a quiver full of arrows. Next to her padded a young wolf, its hackled raised, its black fur a striking contrast to the khaki color of the sandstone beneath it.

This woman was armed to the teeth. And she was, without any doubt in Finn's mind, Warden Mahariel.

His eyes widened. Varric gave a sharp intake of breath, like he recognized her. Cassandra uttered a breathy "it cannot be…"

"Knife-eared bitch," Erimond hissed as Shesi Mahariel and the black wolf stepped calmly a few paces in front of Nani and the others, the elf's stance utterly relaxed. "Doesn't it bother you, betraying your Order like you and your compatriots did? Following your Antivan twit of a Warden-Commander?"

"Not in the slightest," Shesi said, crossing her arms. The wolf beside her growled, pressing its shoulder against her calf. "Should I be mourning the fact that I didn't get to donate my corpse to a blood ritual? Woe is me."

Erimond squinted.

"It bothers you, doesn't it?" Shesi goaded. "That you only nabbed one of the Warden-Commanders. But Corvis got out of your grasp, and now you can't bind one of the world's most powerful mages. Does it keep you up at night, magister?"

Whatever Shesi was trying to do by goading the magister, Nani didn't intervene; she seemed just as willing to let the Senior Warden take over as Finn was.

"On the contrary. I have next to no use for Warden-Commander Nalida," Erimond argued. He sounded an awful lot like he was bluffing about that. "And  _you_  are interrupting the lovely chat I was having with Inquisitor Lavellan."

"A chat I'm through with," Nani said, stepping up next to Shesi; Finn noticed his sister was at least four inches taller than the huntress, who seemed absolutely tiny, even next to a fellow elven rogue. "Release the Wardens. I won't ask twice."

Shesi reached down to knead her fingers in the back of the wolf's neck, soothing the animal just a bit.

"No." Erimond smirked. "You won't."

He raised his hand, pure red magic crackling in his palm; Nani's mark exploded in green light, and she hissed, clutching at her arm.

Shesi glanced briefly at Nani, then yanked a throwing knife from a notch in her armor; it whipped through the air, a quick silvery flash, and embedded itself in the flesh between Erimond's right shoulder and chest. The magister yelled in pain and staggered backwards, the red light dying out.

In the miniscule span of time it took for Nani to recover from the spell and pull her bow from her back, Erimond was already fleeing. Shesi moved to take off after him, but he hurled a spell her way, sending her careening backwards into Finn; the two of them rolled partly down the stairs, and only Finn bracing his arm against one of the steps stopped their descent.

"Kill them!" Erimond shouted, his voice getting quieter with distance.

" _No—andiamo!"_ Shesi snarled, scrambling off Finn and bolting back up the stairs. River reached Finn and offered him a hand, getting him to his feet. To hear a Dalish woman with a Fereldan accent uttering an Antivan word was weird, but Finn's weird meter nearly maxed out when a blur of black and flaxen gold shot past him, and he saw another elf enter the fray.

He didn't concentrate on identifying this one, though. He just grasped his staff and joined the fight, narrowly dodging one of Iron Bull's whirlwind swings as the giant Qunari chopped a rage demon into little igneous pieces.

Finn sunk into the familiar rhythm of battle—it didn't much matter that these enemies were possessed Warden mages and their pet demons. A fight was a fight. It rather sickened him that Erimond had bound these mages just for practice, just to dump them to their deaths with the Inquisition, but then again, the pile of bloodied bodies had suffered equally terrible fates.

Wardens were ridiculously powerful, yes; Finn found that out firsthand when one of them nearly blasted him right off the tower with a shock spell. But this  _shouldn't_ have been a fatal fight. They were trained, all of them, probably even the elven rogue that he kept catching short glimpses of. Shesi had vanished after Erimond, but her wolf was still here, currently pouncing on a mage and tearing its fangs into his throat. Finn caught the metallic tang of blood in the air. It  _should_ have been a simple fight.

None of those should _-_ haves mattered when Finn saw a mage get too close to Nani, and neither Cassandra nor Bull were close enough to shield her; none of those should-haves mattered when the mage twisted his staff to face her, running her through with the bladed end.

She choked, her eyes going wide, and dropped her bow. The mage ripped the blade out of her belly, and Nani fell backwards, collapsing in a heap on the sandstone.

" _Inquisitor!"_  Cassandra yelled, from somewhere much too far away.

Finn's vision went red around the edges.

" _Nuva fen'harel pala masa sule'din!"_ he yelled at the mage. He twisted past a shade's swinging arm, trying to get to where Nani lay on her back, her limbs splayed, her hair a red-wine halo around her head; the shade knocked him on his stomach and he rolled, shredding it to pieces with way too many ice shards. When he got to his feet and surged forward, though, something made him skid to a stop.

Nani's still form was glowing. Shimmering golden magic swirled around her, glittering in the desert sun, and suddenly her body was lifting from the sandstone floor as if an invisible string was tied to her chest and pulling her upwards. Her back arched, her head lolled back, her arms and legs brushed against the stone as she lifted, the magic spiriting her upwards until her feet were skimming against the ground.

Then she dropped an inch, stood on her own two feet, stumbled a little; the magic vanished, and Nani scooped up her bow, firing an arrow like nothing had just happened.

_What_?

Finn caught the mage who'd stabbed her with a lightning orb, completely lost in thought. Only  _really_ advanced healers and spirit mages knew such powerful resurrection spells. But neither he nor Dorian qualified, and he knew none of the Wardens would have gotten Nani up and fighting like that. Was there a hidden mage somewhere? Or had Nani been wearing an amulet that was designed to do much of the same thing? He tried to reach out with threads of his own mana, to feel if there was another's, but the battle-cries and whizzing arrows and clanks of steel around him drowned out his concentration.

He turned, to take down a shade, but the mysterious elven rogue beat him to it with a silvery whirling of daggers. Then the rogue was gone, somewhere else on the battlefield.

Finn was thrown so badly off his game that he barely noticed the last Warden go down with a gurgling death rattle. He leaned on his staff briefly, blinking, then watched Nani sling her bow behind her back like she wasn't even hurt.

Maybe she wasn't.

"Nani!" he said, running to her; Dorian was already steadying her with a hand on her elbow, but she appeared not to need it. "Nani, are you all right?"

"I'm…fine," she said, furrowing her brows. Finn couldn't stop staring at the crimson blotch in her armor, staining the fabric wrappings over her belly. "I feel great, actually. What…"

She stopped, looking to the side.

The mystery-elf sheathed his daggers, glancing at Nani with heavy-lidded, pale amber eyes that sparked with a sort of amusement; Finn studied him momentarily, taking in the caramel tone of his skin, the light flaxen sheen of his shoulder-length hair tied partially back with two neat braids, the black leather armor that matched Shesi's in its sheer amount of throwing knives and darts and small leather pouches at the belt.

"Such a  _mystery,_ your inexplicable healing," the elf said, his accent unmistakably Antivan; he smirked, shifting his weight onto one hip and looking past them. "Come now—surely there must be an explanation hiding somewhere near. Taking shelter behind a  _pillar,_ perhaps?"

"Andraste's tits," Varric said; Bianca clinked heavily as he put her behind his back. "Zevran Arainai. I'll be damned."

"And not just me," Zevran said, chuckling. He peered over his shoulder. "I was hinting for you to come out, my friend."

"Oh!" said a woman's light-pitched voice. "My mistake." And out from behind a pillar trotted another elven woman, her blonde hair tied in a simple ponytail, her mage's tunic swishing around her upper thighs as she reached Zevran's side and stopped, smiling pleasantly at all of them. Compared to the other two elves, she wasn't armed at all—she didn't even carry a staff. Her eyes were big and deep brown, fixed on Nani now. "I hope you're feeling all right, Inquisitor. I wish those spells were  _preventative_ sometimes."

At exactly the same time, Varric said "Rosy?" and River said "Ellie?" Finn glanced over at the both of them, noticing when Dorian came to stand beside him and their arms bumped together.

"I feel  _perfect_ ," Nani said. "Was that you?"

"Yours truly," the elven healer said, smiling even wider.

"Warden Surana," Stroud greeted, bowing briefly. "I had thought it would be foolish to hope you hadn't suffered the same fate as these mages."

"To an extent," Ellairia Surana said, coughing into the sleeve of her tunic.

"She's feeling the Calling the worst," Shesi said from behind them; the black wolf wagged its bushy tail and trotted briskly up to her, following at her heels when she stopped beside Zevran and stood facing the rest of them. "My apologies, Inquisitor—Erimond got away. I tried to catch him, but his magic is too good, even when he's wounded." She was breathing heavily, Finn realized; she bent and braced her hands just above her knees.

" _Va bene, bella mia,"_ Zevran said, resting a hand on her back.

"Twiggy!" Varric greeted at the sight of Shesi. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

As if prompted by Varric's nickname, Zevran reflexively reached up and plucked a small twig out of one of Shesi's braids.

"It's good to see you, Varric," Shesi said, smiling a bit. "And you, Riv."

"You haven't written for a while," River told her. "You owe me no less than twenty letters."

"I know." Shesi chuckled breathily.

"I doubt it's coincidence that we arrived at the same time to the same thing," Nani said.

Shesi shook her head, straightening her spine. "No. Zev, Ellie and I have been tracking that magister for quite some time, now." She reached down to affectionately rub the black wolf's ear. "And you too, Jinx."

"Not an elven name?" Nani asked.

"I…don't speak elvish any longer," Shesi said, her jade green eyes saddening for just a quick moment. "Of course,  _this_   _one_ ," she jerked a thumb towards Zevran, "wanted him to  _also_ be named Zevran, but I told him Thedas could only handle  _one_  Zevran."

Zevran snickered.

"And are there any other non-possessed Wardens about?" Nani said.

"Just us," Shesi said. "After that big Warden meeting went to shit, we Fereldan Wardens set off to look for a cure for the Calling, rather than do some nonsense Tevinter blood magic. Palla and Corvis—and basically the rest of the Fereldan Wardens, as little of us as there are—are still searching as we speak. When we heard word of how bad the Orlesian Wardens had fallen, though, Ellie and Zevran and I turned back."

"We were trying to catch the magister," Ellie explained. She coughed again. "We'll have to keep trying. Also…I thought your Inquisition might have use for a healer, Inquisitor. And I wanted to help you."

She already had, considering Nani was standing and talking rather than bleeding to death where she'd fallen. Finn couldn't be more thankful that the Wardens had ambushed them all like this.

"No doubt this magister will be running back to Adamant with his tail between his legs," Zevran said, craning his head to look off in the distance. "Figuratively speaking, of course. Should we be after him,  _amora?_ "

"As soon as possible," Shesi said.

Adamant? Finn didn't recognize the word. A quick glance at all of their companions told him no one but Stroud recognized it, either. Dorian's arm brushed his again when Dorian shifted on his feet, and Finn ached to grab his hand and twine their fingers together. He didn't know if Dorian was at the hand-holding stage, though, so he forced himself not to.

"So they're at Adamant Fortress," Stroud was saying. "I don't believe you can successfully storm the fort by yourself, Warden Mahariel. It has stood against attacks time and time again."

Shesi laughed. "Nor do we intend to storm it." She looked back to Nani. "What are your plans, Inquisitor?"

Nani considered for a moment. "What do  _you_ think, Cassandra?"

Cassandra's tone was firm, but not unkind. "I believe she was asking you, Nanyehi."

"I still think we should deliberate this," Nani said. "Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana will want to know about Adamant. But we don't have an accurate picture of it, do we? I don't have a good enough report to give, and telling them about the practice ritual here just won't cut it."

"Leave that to us," Shesi said. "Zevran and I can scout the fortress easily enough."

"Deal." Nani reached out her hand. "Do you know where Skyhold is?"

"Well enough," Shesi said, grasping Nani's hand, and the two of them shook. "We'll get you your report for Cullen. I'm glad to hear he's not one of the Red Templars, by the way. He always deserved better than that."

"That he does." Nani's voice softened.

"Shesi," Ellie said, "you don't want me coming with you to scout Adamant?"

"Ellie," Shesi said, "you know we love you dearly, but you're probably as bad of a sneak as that Qunari is." She jerked a hand in Iron Bull's direction. "And the Calling is hitting you hard. The last thing we need is for you to be caught in the middle of Adamant."

"You're right." Ellie didn't look too broken up about that, just worried; but she quickly flashed a bright smile in Nani's direction. "I can come back to Skyhold with you, then. If that's all right."

Nani rested a hand on the bloodied, ripped fabric over her stomach. "I can't imagine why I'd say no to that. But that means I'm leaving you without a mage, Shesi. I suppose one of ours should take Ellie's place." She looked deliberately up at Finn, her expression apologetic.

Shesi fixed her almond-shaped green eyes on Finn. "You were the Keeper's First, right? How well can you sneak?"

Finn's first thought was that it was pretty incredible, Shesi remembering him from Denerim ten years ago. His second thought was that he actually knew how to sneak pretty darn well, seeing as Nani had taught him quite a bit of her hunting when they used to take walks together. And his third thought was that  _oh,_ they wanted him to take Ellie's place.

"Fairly well," he said honestly.

"Finn's a great sneak, when he's trying to be," Nani said. "I…suppose it's only fair to let you borrow my brother, if I'm taking your healer." Her voice caught a little. "Just take care of him, all right?"

Zevran laughed, his pale amber eyes glinting. "Don't you know that travelling with a Fereldan Warden guarantees your safety? None of us died during the Fifth Blight—pretty incredible, yes? We'll return him without a scratch."

Finn was lost in thought. No, he didn't mind scouting this Adamant Fortress with Shesi and Zevran; he knew his magic might come in handy, if things got dicey. But they'd likely be delayed from Skyhold for a while, and he found himself loathe to say goodbye to Dorian and Nani and the others for who knew how long.

But Finn was a Keeper's First, and a First always had to know duty. So he nodded his affirmation.

No one was saying anything else, and he realized they were probably waiting for him to make a goodbye.

He turned to look at all of them—Cassandra and Stroud with their shields at their backs and their proud bearings, River with her sharp daggers and soft eyes, Varric with a nostalgic twinkle in his eye, Iron Bull with sweat shimmering on the grayish skin of his chest, Nani with a worried wrinkle between her brows, and lastly Dorian, standing there with a mild look on his face that was clearly designed to hide anything going on beneath it.

"You take care of yourself, Frosty," Varric cautioned him.

"And don't let anyone else toss you at a demon," Bull said. "That's  _my_ job."

Finn chuckled. "You keep saying that, and you never do it."

"That reeks of a terrible idea," River said. "And I have countless hours of experience with terrible ideas."

Finn watched Nani dig into her pack and pull out several rations of dried meat, dried fruit, and some spare bandages; she crossed over behind them, cramming them into his pack and fastening the opening shut.

"I love you," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek and stepping away. "Be safe."

"Such a doubter, Nani," Finn teased. "What's not to love about tiptoeing straight into a demon-infested fortress? It'll be a walk in the park."

"Do try not to get yourself killed with that attitude, Finn," Dorian said.

Finn wasn't going to let Dorian get away with  _that_ as a goodbye. Audience or no, he crossed the short distance between them and shifted up onto the balls of his feet, lacing his fingers behind Dorian's neck and kissing him rather hard. Dorian sucked in a breath through his nose and gripped Finn's elbows, returning the kiss with uncharacteristic abandon. Finn let himself forget for just a moment, let himself sink into everything that was Dorian—the warm strength of his hands, the pleasant scent of smoke and tingle of magic, the taste of him.

But it had to end sometime. Finn forced himself to pull away, and he and Dorian looked at each other for one more silent moment before Finn stepped back and cleared his throat.

"Adamant isn't too far out of the way," Shesi told him. "We'll be back in no time. Are you ready?"

"As ready as ever," Finn said, his eyes raking over his companions, drinking in the sight of them as if it was the last time he'd see them.

But he'd see them again soon. He was  _fairly_ certain.


	33. Evil Wears a Crimson Cloak

Adamant Fortress stood before them, a strong, stone grey mass settled in the tawny gold of the desert rock. It wasn't as abominably large as Finn had made it out to be in his head, but there was a stalwart hardiness to the dark jetstone of its walls. It had been built ages ago by dwarves, Shesi said, sitting at the very edge of the Abyssal Rift that plunged all the way down to the Deep Roads, to Thedas's darkspawn-infested core.

And it had been long since left to crumble, at least until now, although Finn didn't think the Wardens' nefarious uses of it counted towards ending the archaic fortress's long run of abandonment. Still, the fortress had little wear despite its age, which would make it rather hard for three elves and a wolf to silently infiltrate, and a  _great_ deal harder for the Inquisition to actually take it down.

Shesi stopped her course towards the fort and rested an olive-skinned hand on a rough boulder, her eyes fixed ahead; Finn stopped himself short to avoid running into her. "Your Inquisition is going to need good trebuchets," she said. Jinx pressed his glossy black shoulder into her leg. "A battering ram, to get through the gate. And ladders, likely. Do you have those?"

"Our siege equipment is pushing up metaphorical daisies in Haven," Finn said. "Rather, in the snowy mound that used to be Haven."

"Haven," Shesi repeated. "You remember Haven, Zev? Those crazy dragon-worshipping cultists?"

"Ah, yes." Zevran rested his hands on his hips. "They never  _did_  invite us to join in their festivities. Such unwelcoming people."

"That's because their festivities didn't  _actually_  involve chains and bondage," Shesi said with the slightest huff of a laugh. "Although I'm sure you knew that at the time."

"A man can hope, yes?"

"He can." Shesi looked over her shoulder at Finn, her eyes keen as ever, green as polished imperial jade. "About those trebuchets and ladders…do you think the Inquisitor will be able to borrow them from an ally? I don't see an assault on Adamant going well otherwise."

"What, you Wardens are fresh out of flying griffons?" Finn teased.

"We were  _starving_ during the Blight," Shesi said.

Finn chuckled at that. "I think Josephine should be able to work some of her connections. She has more than I can count. I'll bet it will take some time, though."

"I hope we have enough," Shesi said, her tone sobering.

They were silent for a good few moments, taking in the sight of the fortress ahead of them.

"We won't be able to get  _in_  through the gate," Shesi continued. "That's a given. And even if we could slip in, we'd be noticed instantly." She paused. "We'll need to get up the walls and scope out the ramparts, see if there are any viable choke points for the Inquisition soldiers to hold once they're off the ladders. And it would be best if we didn't try anything heroic while we're in there—those Wardens are lost causes."

From the tensing up of her small form, it hurt her to say those last two words, though she didn't elaborate on any emotion. She idly kneaded her fingers in Jinx's scruff.

"Shesi, now that I think about it—" Zevran started.

"—the Wardens will sense me," Shesi finished, and Zevran nodded; she must've known him extremely well, to be able to finish his sentence with so little to go on. "I'll give us all away, won't I? Shite."

"Let's split up, then," Finn suggested.

Shesi considered it. "Might have to. I suppose I'll take Jinx and scout out the perimeter. Finn, Zev, are you two okay scaling the wall?"

"Ready and willing," Finn said.

"Precisely as Finn said," Zevran concurred.

Shesi turned to fully face them both. "This might go without saying, but don't engage in any fights unless you absolutely have to. They're completely corrupted."

"You think we can save the warriors and rogues, when we take the fortress?" Finn asked. Or, what he hadn't said out loud: would they have to kill every single Warden within the walls?

She nodded, very subtly. "I'm hoping we can. Like Erimond said, it's the mages who've lost their free will—the others should be able to see reason. But either way…it'll be a bloodbath in there."

Finn had never shied away from a good fight. But he'd make himself, this time.

" _Ir abelas,"_ he said. Then, because Shesi had said she didn't speak elvish— "I'm sorry you have to do this."

"No…don't be." She scrubbed her forehead. "We're all feeling the Calling, but the  _mages_ …the possibility of losing Ellie and Corvis to this, and then Alistair and Palla and myself, whether it's Corypheus-generated or not…I won't let it stand." Her voice hardened. "These Wardens didn't fight by our sides when the Archdemon and his darkspawn turned Denerim into a hellhole. They turned back at a closed border and let five of us—and Riordan—take the blow. I'm refusing to believe this blood magic is out of some selfless desire to  _save_   _the_   _world_. It's an act of—" She cut herself off. "My apologies. You don't need to hear my ranting."

"Don't be sorry," Finn said. "I definitely have no right to judge your opinion."

But even as he said that, he knew some would. And it sickened him, that Corypheus had torn the Wardens asunder like this, that maybe only the small splinter-group of Fereldan Wardens would be all that was left after the Inquisition swept through the fortress.

Or maybe the Wardens and their demons would decimate the Inquisition. Not the most delightful of thoughts.

"Regardless…" Shesi twisted her pack around to her front, reaching inside. "We've got rope and hooks. This should be enough."

Zevran smirked. " _Amora,_ this is the first time you've let slip that there's  _rope_ in your pack?"

"I wanted to spare Ellie the countless hours of innuendos," Shesi said.

"And are we  _keeping_ this rope after our stroll through Adamant?" Zevran asked.

There was a hint of teasing in Shesi's voice when she said, "just for you, Zev."

* * *

Finn hadn't met a single Dalish who couldn't climb well, and he was no exception, thankfully—mage or no, he'd been scaling trees and running around on branches since he'd learned how to use his legs. The best views were up high, and sometimes the best meditations could be had up in the canopy of a tree, where nothing could disturb you but the birds and climbing squirrels.

This jetstone wall, however, was nothing like climbing a tree. It was more than a little odd, climbing a solid face like this with only a few notches and handholds, completely exposed to the wind and sun; Finn trusted his arms and his legs, trusted his fingers, but he still heaved a sigh of relief when the top of the wall was mere feet away.

"And here we are," Zevran said once he'd slung his leg over the edge of the ramparts and dropped down; he didn't sound out of breath at all. He reached a hand down, offering it to Finn, who grasped it and let Zevran help him up the last couple of feet. Once Finn's feet touched the solid stone beneath him, the tension drained from his muscles like sand in a sieve, and he looked about curiously.

Either Adamant was remote enough that the Wardens—and Erimond—weren't expecting company, or they were just all occupied elsewhere, because the ramparts were deserted.

"They must be doing something on the lower levels," Finn said.

"And yet they don't invite the two handsome elves who made so much effort to drop in?" Zevran said, clicking his tongue with a look of mock disapproval. "I must question their hospitality."

_Handsome?_ Finn thought, resisting the urge to arch an eyebrow. Sure, Zevran was, very much so—it was rather hard to  _not_ notice such a detail—but Finn didn't get called handsome very often. Usually it was restricted to things most elves got called on a regular basis: exotic, pretty, and everything else vastly un-masculine.

"They could stand to learn a thing or two about etiquette," Finn said, following Zevran as the other elf set off at a light-stepping jog down the ramparts. "And this is coming from someone who doesn't know jack about social decency."

"Ah, but you know enough to include ridiculously handsome guests in your festivities, my friend," Zevran said, pausing once to peer around a corner and check for Wardens before resuming his nearly noiseless pace, Finn following close behind.

"Do you compliment  _everyone_?" Finn had to ask.

Zevran chuckled. "Only those deserving. But I mean nothing serious by it, if it's ruffling your feathers." Then he stopped, rubbing his chin and looking around. "This is a good choke point, don't you think? I'll make a note of it."

Finn nodded his approval.

"You Dalish are not terribly used to compliments, if I recall correctly," Zevran said, fixing his sharp, pale amber eyes briefly on Finn. "Shesi didn't quite know how to react, at first. It was all very amusing, the confused looks and the snorting."

"Sounds about right," Finn said.

Something about their discussion reminded him suddenly of Dorian—well, shit, just about everything did—and Finn sighed softly. He already missed sharing a tent with him and waking up warm and cozy in Dorian's arms, usually because Finn had unintentionally sleep-cuddled him in the middle of the night and Dorian had just gone with it.

Was Dorian thinking about him, too? Or did it just not matter as much? Someone who looked like Dorian did could realistically attract anyone he wanted, and wouldn't have to rely on Finn for attention.

But if Finn let himself keep wondering these things, he might drive himself bonkers.

"What's the plan of attack?" he asked the rogue. "Note the right points to corner the Wardens and skedaddle?"

" _That_ ," Zevran said, "and hopefully get a more accurate picture of how many unwelcome guests have joined them from the Fade."

Demons. If the ritual tower was any indication, the Wardens were willing and able to summon and bind that demon army Corypheus wanted. It killed Finn to not be able to attack them  _now_ , be proactive about the whole thing, but he realistically knew he and Zevran couldn't take them all by themselves. Besides…if he attempted it, and didn't die  _here_ , Nani would castrate him when he got back to Skyhold.

So he didn't voice any complaints as they jogged around on the section of the ramparts closer to the fort's entrance, throwing out strategies, noting how creepily quiet it was up top, save for the occasional shout carried across the wind that Finn attributed to a Warden…well, dying for a blood ritual.

After a little while of this, Zevran paused, looking contemplative.

"We should get a look at the lower levels," Finn said. "We aren't seeing  _any_ demons up here."

"Now  _that's_  a sentence I never expected to hear," Zevran said. "But I agree. Lead the way, my friend."

So it was Finn's turn. His nearly bare feet padded lightly on the stone as he picked up a jog, holding his arms spread a little to keep his gait more finessed. He could barely hear Zevran behind him, even though the assassin was wearing a rather polished, shiny set of ornate leather boots.

It was when they ventured a little farther into the battlements and came upon a wider area that Finn skidded to a stop and flattened himself against the low wall, peering around the corner.

There was a patrol coming their way, but not the normal kind. For as many mages as Finn saw, there was a demon to match; not to mention there was a towering Pride demon stomping along at the very back, its wicked, scythed arms swinging with each thunderous step. The mages all had equally blank, lifeless looks on their faces, dull red light shining just behind their eyes.

"I think we'll be making a mistake if we try to count all these demons," Finn whispered back to Zevran. "They've obviously been at work."

" _Si,"_ Zevran said softly. "Best not to take unnecessary risks, yes?"

It was safe to say that Finn's inner daredevil was  _aching_ to do just that. As the patrol came ever closer, his hands throbbed with each pulse of magic; there was nothing quite like the frigid burn of wild ice trying to burst forth from within him. He ground his teeth together, shaking his head just a little, if only to remind himself that letting his magic loose would get them both killed.

Zevran turned, creeping back along the wall and away from the patrol, and Finn followed him.

Finn hadn't been paying attention to the odd feeling he'd had prickling his skin since they'd climbed the wall, but the nearness of those demons made him realize what it was—blood magic. Obviously. But there was  _so much_ blood magic around the fortress, choking the air itself, sick and carnal and powerful…Finn realized the magic naturally in his own blood was starting to involuntarily jump and twist and respond to it.

He was a trained enough mage to know not to give in to such a corrupted aura. But it  _pulled_ at his blood, and he could feel ice creeping up from his skin to coat his palms.

They either had to find a good wall to climb back down—which would be challenging, for how tired their muscles already were from climbing  _up_ it—or find some way to sneak out the main gate.

Not an easy feat, either of those.

Finn suddenly felt an odd sensation brush over his skin, like a rush of hot, volcanic air. By the time he realized what it was, by the time he'd grabbed the crook of Zevran's arm and stopped him, two molten orange, liquid arms shot up from the stone beneath, and the rest of a rage demon's gelatinous body followed, rising up from the floor directly in front of them.

Zevran touched a hand to one of his daggers, but Finn—and probably Zevran as well—knew that would be no use. Daggers would have almost no effect against the demon's scorching form. Ice was the best weapon, but…

The demon gave a low, throaty laugh and lifted its arms, swinging down at Zevran.

Finn reacted, throwing a barrier over him, but Zevran was already dodging out of the way. But it left Finn devoid of a barrier, since his spell wasn't strong enough to coat two people quite yet, and  _of course_ the demon decided to turn Finn's way and lunge for him instead.

Reflexively, Finn shot out a sheet of ice, knocking the demon away.

The rage demon's abrupt appearance and the crackling of Finn's spell had caught the patrol's attention, from the shouts he heard from the Warden mages. Then he heard feet pounding against the stone, and he locked eyes with Zevran, briefly; the assassin took one look at the ramparts behind Finn and made a hasty beckoning gesture, mouthing ' _let's_   _go!'_

Much as he wanted to fight them…Shesi had the right of it, warning them not to engage directly. The odds were just too low.

Finn just barely ducked under a swing from the recovering rage demon and tore off after Zevran.

The wind whistled sharply past his ears as he sprinted after the assassin, who dodged around a mess of loose crates and kept going; Finn vaulted them instead, the shock of impact coursing through his legs as he kept up the rapid pace along the battlements.

The noise from the patrol behind them had caught the attention of others, naturally; two Warden warriors burst up from the stairs leading to the front courtyard, their hands on their swords, ready to unsheathe; Zevran drove a dagger through one's gut and spun away from him, darting off down the steps. Finn shot an ice shard through the other's throat and followed, careening down the stairs at such a pace that he was surprised he didn't miss a step and trip.

The front gate was tantalizingly close. And shut. And the courtyard was crawling with demons.

Shades. Rage demons. Terrors. They all honed in on the two elves as both of them skidded to a hasty stop at the bottom of the steps, their feet churning into the shallow sand.

" _Merda,"_ Zevran cursed, trying to duck to the right, but a shade appeared, blocking his path. The assassin was still shimmering faintly bluish from the last vestiges of Finn's barrier; another minute, and it would wear off.

The shouts behind them were getting closer. There were too many demons in front of them to simply run through. A few more seconds, and the mages and demons behind them would catch up, and Finn and Zevran would be caught in a fatal bloodbath.

The barrier shimmered around Zevran's skin, barely, a faint film of blue. It would hold.

Finn grit his teeth and thrust his hands up towards the sky, palms splayed, and his magic answered his call with a sort of feral, hungry fervor, pure frost shooting out from him like an explosion.

It rattled his whole body, made his bones shake with the sheer force of it, and the cold bit sharply into his skin. He couldn't see anything but white, hear the death-cries of mages and the gurgling of demons and the howling of the blizzard.

Somehow, he was able to fist his hands and thrust them down, forcing the spell to halt, as if the magic would've kept exploding from within him until it ripped him apart.

From the way his legs shook and rattled, from the sudden red-hot pain coursing through him…maybe his own magic  _would_ have betrayed him. It certainly felt that way.

The ice cleared from the air, dissipated, and Finn looked about in a sort of dumbfounded shock. It was like he was standing in a field of ice sculptures—rage demons, shades, mages, terrors, all petrified where they'd been, some mages swinging their staves, some demons reaching for him. Zevran brushed a film of ice off himself and stood; Finn realized with a jolt of regret that the blizzard had knocked the assassin on his arse. The flimsy, ice-covered arm of a terror demon was a mere foot from Zevran, reaching, frozen where it had been trying to grab him.

Finn had to clench his jaw to keep his mouth from gaping open.

He'd never been able to do that before. Not once. And yet the ice had burst so violently from him that it had slicked the sand itself, stuck to the walls around them in jagged white patterns, made an eerie sculpture garden from the demons in the front courtyard.

Why? And how? Had such a savage, uncontrolled spell been prompted by the blood magic seeping through the fort's walls and air? Or something else?

"Well, then," Zevran said, a little breathlessly. "So much for the sneaking. Shall we be off?"

The spell wasn't fazing  _him_ nearly as much as it was Finn. Although, to be fair, nothing seemed to faze Zevran very much. Finn made a step forward, but his legs felt so weak that he had to press his staff against the ground to steady himself.

"Get the gate," Finn wheezed, panting. He thought he might actually collapse as he jogged after Zevran through the odd maze of iced demons to the tall, fortified wooden gateway. "I'd stonefist it…but…"

_But I drained my mana pool. And I hadn't been trying to. Shite…_

"Don't you worry," Zevran said with a bit of a low chuckle, reaching the gate and lifting the heavy metal latch. Finn grabbed the handle beside Zevran and the two of them hauled it open a couple feet, enough for them to slip out.

If they were lucky, they'd have a couple minutes to meet with Shesi and her wolf and get clear of Adamant before they were followed out. If they were unlucky…

Well, either way. They'd better run. Finn slipped out the gate's opening after Zevran, hoping his own muscles wouldn't double-cross him.


	34. Before Thy Red Lips Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to those of you who've read, kudo'd, commented, or bookmarked! Much love and very appreciated!

Nani's ultimate intention, come midmorning, was to check on Warden Surana and see if the elven healer was satisfied with the room they'd given her to set up an infirmary. Nani had already asked Blackwall, for just a few minutes, if he was feeling fatigued from the Calling, and his answer had been vague as ever; then she'd had a little mini session from Solas on controlling the Anchor better, which had ended in a twenty-minute meditation in his space beneath the library; then she'd gone and spent a little while with Sera, Varric, River, and Bull in the tavern, where they were relaxing with a few drinks. She'd go check on Dorian in a little while, but she'd wanted to visit with Ellairia, first.

She certainly hadn't been planning on eavesdropping on a personal conversation.

"…and you know I'm very cross with you," Leliana was saying, the Orlesian silk of her voice recognizable anywhere. "You didn't reply to my last letter, and then I learn through other means that you're suffering from the Calling? Why didn't you tell me?"

"We're all suffering," Ellairia said gently.

"But you have it the worst, don't you?" Leliana pressed. "Or so I've  _heard."_

"I'd…prefer not to make too much out of this," Ellie said. Nani silently leaned against the outside wall, unsure of whether to leave them be or wait for a good moment to interrupt. "Every Warden's Calling comes sooner or later."

"And yet this one could possibly be fake," Leliana said.

"We're hoping," Ellie said. "Corvis and Palla are searching for a cure, regardless."

"So  _that's_ where they've run off to." Leliana gave a halfhearted chuckle. "And yet you, Shesi, and Zevran turned around. Was it  _just_ to aid the Inquisition?"

"That's the goal," Ellie said.

"You didn't, perhaps, use this as an opportunity to apologize for worrying me?"

"Have I worried you?" Ellie asked, her tone rising a little in pitch—nervousness, Nani realized. "If I have, I'm really sorry."

Leliana let out a sort of breathy, derisive laugh. "After all this time, you still  _ask_ if you've worried me."

"Leliana, I—"

"—don't remind me that ten years is a long time. I still care for you."

Nani swallowed hard, suddenly feeling even more terrible for listening.

"And I care about you  _too,_ Leliana. I always have. You know that. Just…not in the way that you're hoping. You're a dear friend."

"And nothing more," Leliana filled in, her voice bitter. "Regardless of any  _inconvenient_ personal feelings, Ellie, I'm going to make sure we don't stop until the Inquisition has taken Corypheus down. I swear it."

"And I'll help in whatever way I can." The sadness in Ellie's voice didn't match the conviction implied by her words. "Shesi and Zevran will be returning in a day or so, I should think. They'll be happy to see you."

"And I, them," Leliana said.

Nani heard the Spymaster turn and head for the door, her footfalls nearly silent, as any trained rogue's were. Not wanting to be caught snooping—even though her position as Inquisitor gave her all rights to do just about anything—she ducked a few paces away, acting as if she were just approaching the infirmary when Leliana opened the door and slipped out.

"Inquisitor," Leliana greeted coolly when their eyes met, tucking a strand of strawberry hair back under her thick grey hood. Then she wordlessly moved past Nani with a swishing of chainmail and skirts, and Nani caught the door before it shut entirely, stepping inside.

Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dimmer golden light from the numerous wall sconces, to the buttery flickers they sent dancing along the rich brown of the wooden walls. Ellie had already set up what the Inquisition had donated to her—vials of greenish elfroot juice, glass bottles of electric blue lyrium potions, rolls of clean white gauze, wooden splints, bowls of ground herbs, and various odds and ends. All were arranged meticulously on shelves and tables throughout the room, and there were a couple of open chests along the walls, probably for storing patients' clothes and belongings until they were able to walk out. Some of the men had also moved a few cots inside, so those who needed heavy doses of healing magic could sleep off the effects.

Ellie herself was sitting at one of the tables, leafing through what looked like a manual on herbs, her light blonde hair left loose around her shoulders; the flickering lights made some strands fire deep golden when Ellie tilted her head to rest her jaw on her hand. She looked up when Nani approached, her chocolate brown eyes big and friendly.

"Inquisitor," she greeted. " _Thank you_ for giving me this whole room to work in. I really appreciate it."

"I should be thanking you," Nani said. Not only for saving her life in the Western Approach, but for graciously donating her healing services to the Inquisition. Healers as good as Ellie were few and far between. "And you can just call me Nanyehi."

Ellie bowed her head once in acknowledgment. "You can call me Ellie, then. I'd prefer that."

Nani nodded.

"Before you say anything…" Ellie pushed her chair out and stood, leaving the book open on the table. "Would you mind lying down for a moment? I'd like to make sure your innards healed properly. I did that spell fairly hastily, and remote healing isn't always as accurate as the hands-on version."

"I feel fine," Nani insisted. "But I won't object to you checking."

She crossed over to a cot and sat, sinking down until her back and legs were flat against it. It was a vulnerable position, and Nani hated being vulnerable, but she reminded herself that Ellie wouldn't hurt her.

"I'd prefer to make certain," Ellie said, "you being the Inquisitor and all. The Inquisition can't lose you."

Maybe so. Nani leaned her head back and studied patterns on the ceiling as Ellie pulled up Nani's tunic halfway and spread her slender, tiny hands on her stomach.

The healer closed her eyes in concentration, humming to herself as she worked.

"Everything feels good…" she said, skimming her hands a little this way, a little that way; "Oh! You've still got a bit of tearing." There was a tingling sensation of magic spreading through Nani's belly, and a minor cramp she didn't know she had disappeared altogether.

"I'm amazed you can feel that," Nani said.

"Just practice, really," Ellie said. "Otherwise, you're right as rain." She opened her eyes and took a step back, and Nani sat up, tugging her tunic back down.

Warden Surana's aura was so soothing that Nani realized her eyelids were a little heavy with sleepiness when she blinked and looked about the room. Or maybe that was the dose of healing magic. Probably a mix of both. She studied Ellie's face, trying briefly to guess how old the other elf was—she looked no more than twenty, but Nani knew she'd been a teenager during the Fifth Blight, when Nani had only been ten herself. Ellie could easily be older than Finn, although her youthful complexion didn't show it.

But there  _was_ a barely perceptible touch of fatigue in her eyes, and of fear.

"Will you be all right, with the Calling?" Nani asked.

Ellie smiled reassuringly, but neither of the two feelings faded from her eyes. "Don't you worry about me. I'm okay."

"You're not…you know…?"

"Close to dying?" Ellie said. "I don't have a good answer, unfortunately. It doesn't  _feel_ fake to me. But even if it is…I'm still going to do everything I can."

"Let me know if you need anything," Nani said regardless, swinging her legs over the edge of the cot and standing.

"I will," Ellie promised. "But I'm sure you're busy today. Take care, Nanyehi."

"And you," Nani said, giving her one last glance before she stepped out of the infirmary.

She nearly clocked one of Leliana's scouts in the face when she opened the door. As the scout took a quick step back and composed his expression, Nani opened her mouth to apologize, but stopped herself short when the scout bowed and immediately spoke.

"I've a letter for you, Inquisitor," the scout said, handing Nani a sealed envelope. "Or, for one of your acquaintances, rather—but I was told to deliver it to you, first."

A glance down at the envelope told Nani the letter was intended for Dorian. No wonder the scout had slunk up to her first. She knew many of the people here in Skyhold harbored something between distrust and dislike for him, and while she understood people being wary of those from Tevinter, she wished they would go have a conversation with him and cure themselves of those notions—he didn't deserve it.

Still, she'd happily deliver it to him.

"My thanks," Nani said.

The scout bowed again in farewell, and left.

* * *

Nani found Dorian in the library, seated on a faded highback chair with one leg crooked sideways and that foot resting on his knee. He had a book cradled open in one hand, but with the way he kept running his other hand through his hair and then attempting to smooth it to its usual orderly state, he didn't seem to really be  _reading_ it.

"Dorian," she said, to get the mage's attention without startling him.

"Ah, Nanyehi." Dorian looked up from the book, his typical easy grin spreading across his face. "Fancy meeting you in such a place."

"You look stressed about something," she noted.

"Stressed? Me?" Dorian laughed, even as he dragged a hand through his hair  _again—_ a telltale sign of nerves. "What a silly notion. If I stressed overmuch, I'd risk wrinkles. And I can't afford to ruin such a face. I have to think of  _other people,_ you see."

Nani rolled her eyes. "Then why is your hair a little messy?"

"I'm merely following popular trends, Inquisitor. And if your brother is any indication, messy hair is all the rage in Skyhold."

A- _ha._ He hadn't come out and specifically said it, but Dorian was plainly thinking about Finn. And probably stewing over her brother's prolonged absence. Just as she was trying not to do.

"You  _are_ worried," she said. "About Finn."

Dorian snorted. "Goodness,  _no_. But I'll admit someone has to be. It's only fair. Maker knows  _Finn_ isn't worried about Finn. It's a wonder the man has made it to twenty-six years."

Nani lifted her chin. "You're a bad liar."

"On the contrary. I am exemplary at anything I do."

"Then why don't I believe you?"

Dorian didn't say anything for a minute, just lifted an eyebrow. Then some sort of wall came crumbling down, and his shoulders sagged.

"I don't want to lose him either,  _falon,"_ Nani said.

"Is that why you shipped him off to a demon-infested shithole?" Dorian snapped.

Nani's eyes widened.

"My apologies," Dorian said with a heavy sigh. "You didn't deserve that. Regardless—I would prefer to leave the subject alone, if you don't mind."

Dorian wasn't one for tearfully discussing his innermost feelings over tea and crumpets, Nani was realizing. And she couldn't exactly fault him for being similar to the way  _she_ was. So she let it go; if he wanted to ask about Finn, he would. She wouldn't push him.

"You got a letter today," she said, changing the subject and handing him the envelope. He stood and slipped the book back onto the shelf nearest to him with one hand, then set about getting the envelope open. "Would you rather I left you alone to read?"

"No, no. No need." Dorian waved a hand dismissively. "It's short. I'll have it read in a jiffy."

Nani leaned on one hip and kept silent, giving him a chance to read. It didn't take long, like he'd said—Dorian was highly-educated and a swift reader. It  _also,_ she noticed, didn't take long for whatever was written in the black ink on the paper to make his face fall.

"It's about Felix," Dorian said after a moment's hesitation. "He's dead. The Blight caught up with him. Tevinter…lost a good man."

"Creators…" Nani said. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you," Dorian said with a sigh. He quickly composed his expression. "Apparently he went to the Magisterium. Stood on the senate floor and told them of you. A glowing testimonial, I'm informed. No news on the reaction, but everyone back home is talking. Felix always was as good as his word. Even in illness, he was the best of us. With him around, you knew things could be better."

"What's this?" Nani said, teasing him to hopefully bring his mood up. Finn always did it for her, and it almost always worked. "Are you saying he was a better person than you?"

"What a mad thing to say!" Dorian chuckled. "Few people are better than I."

Nani just gave him one of her  _looks._

"Very well," he conceded, "a better person, clearly. But not nearly as handsome. That's one thing I refuse to relinquish superiority above all others in."

"Well, don't let Finn hear you say that."

Oops. There was the touch of worry in Dorian's eyes again. She shouldn't have reminded him. Creators, she was so bad at this.

"But you seem to revere Felix a great deal," she added, hoping to take Dorian's mind off it once again.

"As I once did his father," Dorian said. "Who is still withering away in Skyhold's prisons, might I remind you. Were you planning on fetching him out and giving him a trial anytime soon, or leaving him there until the proud Tevinter nobility is squeezed right out of him? Tsk, tsk."

"I'll judge him soon," Nani promised.

"When you do," Dorian said, "I  _must_ ask that you don't give him a needlessly brutal sentence. He was my mentor once, after all. I can't help hoping there's something left of the man I once knew."

Just about anyone in Skyhold would've asked her to do exactly the opposite, and they would probably be justified. But Nani nodded solemnly anyway. "I'll see what I can do."

"He should know about Felix." Having decided that, Dorian took a step towards the stairs, stopping once to look over his shoulder at her. "Oh, and Nanyehi…should you receive word on Finn, do let me know, would you?"

"If all goes well," Nani said, "we won't have to send a bird their way. We'll hear from them in person."

* * *

Cullen was in a bit of a pickle.

Part of him—a big part—wanted to jump at the chance to talk to Warden Surana, now that he knew she was actually present in Skyhold. Nothing too scandalous; he just felt a need to apologize for what had come to pass in Kinloch Hold when the Wardens had released it from Uldred's clutches. He shouldn't have said the things he did, that all mages were unnatural and should've been locked away or left to die. Those weren't his views any longer. And he knew those words had hurt her—he'd seen it flash through her wide brown eyes before the group had headed up to the Harrowing chamber.

Still, an equally large part of him wanted to save the apologizing bit for a later time and see Nanyehi instead.

Selfish, perhaps. Surely the Inquisitor had more important things to do than chat with him. Maker knew  _he_ had a full schedule himself, what with overseeing the recruit training and making sure Skyhold's defenses were properly kept up. But he always loved it when she took the time to talk. Sometimes, when she really let her guard down, the words flowed more freely and her eyes lit up, shimmering, like clear aquamarine crystal. It was rare—almost always she caught herself letting the guard down, and she'd clear her throat, shift, and try her hardest to bring it back up again.

It wasn't easy for her, making conversation. Anyone could see that. She visibly struggled with the right words, fought against the desire to climb a tree and leave the world behind. But when she _did_ relax and get a little enthusiastic and lean forward with bright eyes as she talked…Maker, she was beautiful.

A part of him—a big part—hoped she only loosened her tight control over herself for  _him._

But he'd let his thoughts wander again. And surely Nanyehi was busy today. Cullen tidied up a couple of loose papers on his desk, resolving to apologize to Ellairia now and wait until Nanyehi made time for him.

His office door swung open with a noticeable groan—he'd have to ask someone about oiling those hinges—and he looked up from a stack of papers to see Nanyehi come into the room, her steps light and airy and perfectly placed.

"I thought I'd find you here," she said.

Cullen found himself chuckling, not upset about his plans suddenly changing. "I do seem to never leave this room."

"It's understandable." Nanyehi looked about, her deep red hair falling loosely over her shoulders, soft and sleek. "Finn, Shesi, and Zevran should have a report for us soon, with any luck."

"Our troops are ready for whatever comes," Cullen reassured her. "They're eager to follow your orders."

Nanyehi's shoulders slumped. "I find myself…not very eager to give them."

Cullen watched her cross over to his desk and sit on its smooth wooden surface, crossing one slender leg over the other. She looked about as comfortable as a deer with hounds on its tail.

"What right do I have to send all of those people into a demon-infested fort?" she continued. "The odds are—" She cut herself off, looking annoyed at herself. "I should really just stop and think about something else."

"As you wish," Cullen said. He wouldn't push her to think about Adamant when there weren't many advances they could make without the report coming in. And she wasn't the type of person to chatter about things without  _doing something_ about them.

"So…how are you today?" she said, shifting her eyes from him, to some random miscellany on the wall, and back to him once more.

"As good as can be expected, given our recent drastic circumstances," Cullen said. "And you?"

"Good," she said simply, looking down at her lap.

Maker, this was more awkward than usual. Something was plainly on her mind, and he didn't think it was Adamant. He was about to reassure her that she could speak her mind around him, that he'd happily listen and do what he could to help, but he was interrupted by someone materializing in the room.

Quite literally  _materializing,_ actually. There was that peculiar spirit boy, Cole, coming up right out of thin air and sitting cross-legged in a chair in the corner of Cullen's office, gripping his ankles with his pale, spindly hands. Cullen could barely see his face under the wide leather brim of his hat. Nanyehi jumped a little, obviously startled by his sudden appearance, but she relaxed immediately. His presence didn't seem to bother her.

Until he started  _speaking._

" _Strong arms, warm and safe, years of holding a shield and protecting,"_ Cole said, not looking up. " _A Templar's shield and a lion's heart. She wonders what it would be like, to have those arms around her."_

Nanyehi's eyes widened, her cheeks draining of all color, her skin pale as fresh snow.

" _COLE—"_ she started.

"I've said something wrong," Cole said, his voice cracking. "Let me try again—"

"No, no," Nanyehi said quickly, waving her hands in front of her. "I don't want to forget, Cole. It's all right."

Cullen found himself watching this exchange with his heartbeat rapidly increasing in tempo. Did Nanyehi really wonder what it would be like, if he held her in his arms? Maker knew he'd found himself wondering how  _she'd_  feel in his arms, this delicate-looking Dalish elf with the will of pure steel.

Cole looked back and forth between Cullen and Nanyehi, hesitating, obviously about to speak something else. Then he seemed to change his mind, and without another word, he winked out of existence, probably returning to wherever he usually liked to sit and think above Skyhold's tavern.

Cullen looked at Nanyehi, and realized she was watching his face with a petrified expression.

"I'm…so sorry," she said, her voice higher in pitch, likely from stress. "I shouldn't be thinking those things…it's…"

And yet the fact that she  _was_ thinking those things was…exhilarating, in a strange way that Cullen hadn't felt for the longest time.

And he didn't want to let that feeling go. Couldn't.

Instead of responding to her nervous apologies, he closed the distance between them, stopping just shy of her when she craned her head to look up at him; then her lips parted, ever so slightly, and Cullen was leaning down as if by instinct, pressing his own lips to hers.

She smelled like fresh pines, tasted like mountain water and mint. It barely took her any time to melt against him, her hands grappling for a hold at the back of his neck, settling for gripping his fur mantle. Then they shifted to the back of his neck as he kissed her, and he could feel her slightly calloused palms from years of hard living in the wilds outside of Starkhaven.

There was a vulnerable sort of warmth to her, and a desperation; she plainly didn't have much experience with this, nor did he. But he kissed her all the same, letting his hands rest on the desk surface at each side of her thighs, boxing her in without trapping her there.

Eventually, he made himself pull away, taking in the pinkish flush to her cheeks beneath the forest green  _vallaslin_ before he took a step back.

Nanyehi stared up at him, that unguarded brightness in her eyes that he so loved to look at.

"That…" she said, trailing off and shaking her head. "Me and a human. Finn's going to be chuckling for days. Not that he has any right to judge on that front."

"Me and the Inquisitor," Cullen said. He did rather like the sound of that. "My  _sister_ is going to demand letters." And if he knew Mia, one would not be enough. Nor would five.

Nanyehi bit on her bottom lip for a moment, then allowed herself a bit of a smile. "I think I can get behind this arrangement, Commander."

Cullen smiled and, right before he went in for another kiss, said, "I'm inclined to agree, Inquisitor."


	35. This Fire I Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild sexual content here; you want full-blown smut, go check out my Of Noblemen and Wildmen series. :)

Much as Finn wanted an ale and a solid ten-year-long nap after reaching Skyhold—in no particular order, per se—he was more enthusiastic about seeing everyone he'd been missing for the past several days.

Shesi and Zevran had just departed to present their report on Adamant, strategies and numbers and all, to Cullen, Leliana, Josephine, Cassandra, and of course Nani (who'd been able to give Finn a brief hug before heading to the war room.) But Finn headed to the tavern now, where he was fairly certain everyone would be.

The sky was a sort of velveteen grey above, dark with the coming night, and the breeze that wafted gently past Finn as he opened the tavern door carried a faint hint of pine and mountainflower. Then the recognizable scents of the tavern hit his nose, and the warm flickering of lantern light hit his eyes—he looked about and spotted a few of his friends sitting at a table, drinks already among them.

"Missed me?" Finn asked as he approached them.

Sera looked up first.

"Eh, look at you!" she exclaimed, raising her flagon in the air. Then her nose wrinkled. "Ooh, you  _stink_ of demons."

"Do they even have a smell?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A bad one," she said.

"Cumin?" he said. "Wet mabari? Rotting corpse? You've got to give me more to go on."

By that time, Varric had already reached up from his seat to thump Finn on the back, and River raised her flagon in greeting as well. Blackwall tipped his head slightly, giving Finn a more dignified hello.

"Grab a seat," Varric said, and River patted the space on the bench next to her. Finn sat, looking casually about for Dorian, but he didn't spot him in the tavern. Varric gave his back one last pat. "You tired, Frosty?"

Frosty. Finn was reminded, again, of the unintentional ice sculptures he'd created at Adamant, and he thought wryly that a nickname had never been so damn appropriate.

"I'm getting there," Finn said. Seeing his friends, though, woke him up a bit. Now, if only he could find Dorian… "I'm sure Zevran and Shesi will be in here in a little while."

"I'm looking forward to catching up," River said. "I invited Ellie to join us, but I think that Calling has her exhausted. She's already asleep, poor thing."

Finn hadn't forgotten about the other elven Warden, the delicate blonde healer who'd hid behind a pillar at the ritual tower and saved Nani's life with a powerful revival spell. He made a mental note to visit her soon and thank her for being there when the enemy Warden had impaled Nani on the bladed end of his staff.

"Do you know Shesi or Ellie well?" Finn asked Blackwall.

The older Warden shook his head and took a long pull of ale. "Can't say that I do. I only receive orders and go out recruiting. Before the Inquisition came along, that is."

"And you're feeling all right?" Finn asked, concerned that Blackwall might be starting to hear Corypheus's Calling as well.

"Aye," Blackwall said. "Don't start worrying about  _me._ I'm not about to lose my mind and abandon the Inquisition and your sister."

That reassured Finn a little bit.

A tavern waitress briefly stopped by and asked Finn if he'd like a drink; he ordered an amber ale and then relaxed on the bench, letting his shoulders and eyelids droop a bit. The ale came shortly after, halfway into River's story about some sketchy investigation of a blood mage prostitute in Kirkwall's local brothel. At least, that was what Finn heard. He listened for a while as he drank and remembered to laugh at the appropriate spots, but only realized he was nodding off where he was sitting when River slung an arm around his shoulder and jolted him awake.

"Falling asleep, cutie?" she asked. "Or did my story drain all the life out of you?"

"First one." Finn nodded sheepishly. "And I'm sure the ale isn't helping that."

"You should get some sleep before you fall forward and drown in your ale," Varric said with a knowing chuckle. "We'll all have plenty of time to catch up with you now that you're back."

Finn climbed off the bench when River dropped her arm, and he stood, surveying the tavern one last time. Dorian was still absent. Finn frowned a little, then decided he had enough energy to go look for Dorian once he'd stopped off at his own room and changed into more comfortable clothes.

He bid everyone goodnight and jogged up the two sets of tavern stairs to the third floor, pulling the door to his room open with a yawn. Once inside, he blinked, letting his eyes adjust, and realized the room was not as he'd left it last time.

For one, the bed was actually a bona fide  _bed,_ and it had sheets and a comforter and everything, the comforter a deep royal blue with arabesque patterns of crisp silver woven into the fabric. There were no less than six fluffy Orlesian throw pillows, and spanning much of the room was a thick rug of Antivan make, its weave soft and so deep blue it was nearly black. Up against one wall was a polished mahogany dresser, and against the opposite wall was a matching mahogany desk—Finn peered over at the stack of books on the desk's surface and realized they were volumes of  _Hard in Hightown._

So Varric hadn't forgotten about getting Finn those copies.

He knew this room opened up onto the ramparts with the two doors perpendicular to the door he'd come through—which could get awkward, if soldiers on the ramparts didn't know what room they were moseying into—but that problem had been averted by a noticeable iron latch now adorning each door. Finn looked above him, remembering the roof had been partially rotted through last time he'd been in here, but now there were solid wooden planks above him. There was already a lantern flickering low light across the walls from its spot on top of the dresser, and Finn spied a turquoise glass vase filled with lavender buds at one corner of the desk.

Josephine had really gone all out with accommodating him, hadn't she?

He smiled tiredly, taking it all in, before venturing his hands within the dresser and pulling out a set of dark grey breeches and a loose red cotton tunic. After pulling those on and making sure his armor was properly taken care of, he stretched his arms over his head, trying to wake himself up so he could get to searching for Dorian.

The doorknob behind him clicked and turned.

Then Dorian stepped into the room, a smile breaking across his face when he spotted Finn standing there, and Finn suddenly didn't feel so fatigued anymore.

"I thought I might find you here," Dorian said; he was wearing a thick, white cotton tunic and dark trousers instead of his usual ornate armor, and the tunic didn't do much to disguise his musculature underneath. Finn tried not to stare and didn't even come close to succeeding. The Tevinter mage smirked. "And you're even in one whole piece. Miracles  _do_ happen."

"Gods be praised," Finn said with a laugh, turning to fully face Dorian and wondering if he should be brave enough to tackle the other man in a hug. Then he decided no, probably not—he and Dorian weren't quite at the "exuberant tackling" stage yet.

"Oh, and look." Dorian gazed across the room. "They got rid of that queer painting in time for you to get home. Sometimes life really pampers you, doesn't it?"

Ah, right—that weird painting of the random bald guy. Finn hadn't noticed its absence.

"If they hadn't," Finn said, "I'd have chucked it off the ramparts by now."

The corner of Dorian's mouth twitched upwards into a sort of smile, and he took Finn's shoulders and turned the smaller man around, bumping him back against his chest. His words vibrated against Finn's shoulder blades as he spoke. "A pity we weren't all able to witness that. Although I suppose the frame might have beheaded some unsuspecting simpleton when it hit the ground."

Finn smiled contentedly. "Maybe it's a good thing they deprived me of my fun, then."

"Mmm." Dorian pressed his lips just below Finn's ear. "Maybe so."

Finn didn't answer—his thoughts were wandering a little too much to form a complete sentence. Not to mention his heart had just started some sort of kooky, violent workout session in his ribcage.

"It seems a pity, though," Dorian said, skimming his warm hands down Finn's sides and scrambling his thoughts even further, "that the most fun you'll ever have would be achieved by throwing fine art off a tall building."

Finn couldn't help but burst into laughter at that, although it choked off when Dorian started kissing his neck. "I, uh…wouldn't call that  _fine_ art."

"Fair point." Dorian's mouth brushed Finn's neck when he spoke, and it was driving Finn completely mad, especially when he hooked his fingers under Finn's collar and dragged the fabric sideways so his lips could reach more of his skin. His free hand curled around, slipping under the bottom hem of the tunic and skimming onto Finn's stomach. "This  _is_ a nice room, don't you think? It would be awfully tragic not to make use of it, now that you're back."

"What're you getting at?" Finn asked, even though he was fairly certain he knew the answer—unless Dorian was just teasing him, of course.

" _Finn,"_ Dorian chided, letting go of him. "Don't be a clueless ninny."

Finn raised an eyebrow and slowly, deliberately, crossed over to the door Dorian had come through and leaned back against it. "I don't know. I've assumed the wrong thing before."

"Then let me put it into terms you can't possibly misunderstand." Dorian rested a forearm against the door above Finn's head, his grey eyes dark and carnal. "This flirting and chaste kissing is very nice and all, but I am  _not_ a nice man. I say we dispense with the chitchat and move on to something decidedly more…primal."

"Ah." An electric surge of desire shuddered down Finn's spine, and he struggled to maintain control of himself as he thumped his head back against the door and kept looking up at Dorian. "Would it be stupid to say I'm surprised?"

"A little." Dorian's eyes were fixed on Finn almost like a predator's. It was…intoxicating, to say the least. "Have I not made my feelings clear before today?"

Finn thought about asking Dorian to define the parameters of their relationship right then, to draw a clear line so Finn could try not to step too far in emotionally. Then he remembered that  _Dorian,_ who he'd been drooling over since he'd met him, was  _standing in his room_ and bluntly saying what Finn had been daydreaming about hearing, and Finn decided to fling his questions out the proverbial window.

He gave Dorian a cheeky grin and reached for the door bolt without looking, locking it behind him.

Dorian smirked knowingly, his eyes flickering down to Finn's mouth, and then he leaned down to kiss him.

Finn didn't waste much time standing on his toes and deepening the kiss, pressing hard against Dorian, who eagerly pressed Finn back against the wall and sandwiched them together. It took Finn a bit of tugging to lift Dorian's tunic with their bodies so close together; eventually he just rested his hands on Dorian's sides, memorizing the feel of his skin.

After a minute of that, Dorian chuckled against Finn's mouth. "I'm fairly certain I mentioned  _primal,_ Finn. I think you mistook primal for  _Dorian asked me to delicately cuddle a day-old kitten."_

"I don't see  _you_ turning into an animal," Finn shot back.

Dorian pulled back, raising his eyebrows. Then he spun Finn around, backed him up, and gave him a shove, pushing him down on the mattress and climbing on top of him. He settled his full weight on top of Finn and kissed down his neck, his teeth scraping against Finn's skin; Finn gave a rather noticeable shudder and a " _hnnn_ — _nnnf_."

Dorian chuckled at that.

"Arse," Finn said.

"Ah. So begins the good-natured ribbing," Dorian said, yanking Finn's tunic up and over his head in a short, obviously skilled motion, flinging it sideways and to the floor. "I suppose two men can't do anything without it."

"Or…you know…do each other without it," Finn said, before he could stop himself. Did that sound dumb? It probably sounded dumb. Oh well.

"Touché." Dorian grabbed Finn's wrists and spread-eagled his arms, pinning them down. Finn tilted his head back, sucking in a breath as Dorian trailed rough kisses along his collarbone and shoulder. He gripped the comforter beneath him hard, fisting wads of thick fabric, until Dorian shifted upwards to straddle his hips.

It was when Dorian's fingers hooked under the waistband of Finn's breeches that Finn took a deep, shaking breath and shook his head.

"Wait," he breathed. " _Wait._ Stop."

Too fast. It was too fast. Finn didn't do this whole  _let's-have-a-quick-shag_ thing. But he had the sickening sense that he'd just fucked something up.

Dorian pulled his fingers away from Finn's hips, frowning, compounding Finn's fears. "Second thoughts already? I thought shameful, activity-halting revelations were usually reserved for  _after_ sex."

"It's not that." Finn reached above him to grip the headboard, tapping the wood with his fingernails. "Could you just…take it a little more slowly? I don't want to rush."

Dorian's frown only intensified. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I…" Finn sighed heavily.  _Come on, self. Use your words._ "I don't want it to be over in a heartbeat. I want to take it slowly and…enjoy every moment with you. Is that all right?"

Wide-eyed and dumbstruck for the first time ever, Dorian stared down at Finn, saying nothing in return. With every ticking second Finn felt more and more like he'd completely fouled up the situation, and that Dorian was going to climb off him, laugh at his sentimentality, and walk right out of the room.

"I don't know how," Dorian finally said.

Finn cocked his head, not sure he'd heard him right.

"You think I have some sort of example to follow?" Dorian laughed bitterly. "Back home in Tevinter, relationships between men…they're purely physical. They don't go beyond that. It's not that you don't  _care,_ it's just… I'm completely unfamiliar with what you just asked me to do."

"You…don't know how to take things slow?" Finn asked.

"This  _has_ been slow for me," Dorian said exasperatedly. "By my standards, we've been positively chaste."

" _This_ is slow?" Finn repeated.

"Yes, Finn, this is slow, as I just stated two seconds ago," Dorian snapped. "Mock me if you must."

"I'm not mocking you." Finn reached a hand towards him, and Dorian breathed out a shuddering sigh, pressing his lips to Finn's wrist. "I'm…not much better at this than you are. Creators know I don't have a wealth of experience. But…hell, I just want to know what  _you_ want."

"I want  _you,"_ Dorian growled, shocking Finn into silence—a rare circumstance. "Here I was, trying to prepare myself to walk away when this was over and you inevitably decided your curiosity had been sated…" He scrubbed his own forehead with a hand. "I don't know what to do, and I hate not knowing. All I  _do_  know is that if you ask me to take it slow today and look into your eyes, I _won't_ be able to walk away afterwards. So if you want this to be a one-time experience, then say so now, and I'll leave."

"Who said anything about walking away, you buffoon?" Finn said, smiling. "You're stuck with me."

Dorian reached a hand down to thread his fingers through Finn's hair, briefly closing his eyes. When he opened them, his expression was soft, tender; he leaned down to press his mouth to Finn's, slowly positioning himself so that their bodies pressed flush against each other once again.

The mood had already changed drastically, but not for the worse; Finn let himself sink into the kissing, taking his time, running his hands all over Dorian's taut, muscular body, and Dorian did the same, exploring every inch of Finn with a gentle but deliberate touch.

And this time,  _slowly,_ their touching turned rougher, more desperate, and Finn felt desire crackle hot under his skin. He grabbed ahold of Dorian's hair and pulled, panting; Dorian groaned and moved downward, pressing a scorching kiss to Finn's bare chest, kissing and nipping down his stomach, and Finn ached so badly that he thought he might lose it. Then Dorian lowered his head to Finn's hips, hooking one arm around one of Finn's legs and tugging down his breeches with his teeth and his one free hand.

Finn had to grip the headboard hard for the next few minutes.

" _Isalan hima sa i'na,"_ he eventually moaned, shuddering all over. " _Isalan pala na…garas aman na'mis…"_

Dorian lifted his head to kiss the side of Finn's thigh, sweat shimmering on his dark skin. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his breaths hot and heaving.

There was no more need to be cautious, no more willpower to slow down. Not when their sweat was the only thing between them, slick on their skin; not when Finn's aching was about to burst him from the inside out; not when Dorian was finally inside him, their breaths coming high and fast and desperate.

No more holding back. Just them.

* * *

Finn crossed his arms behind his head, closing his eyes and propping one foot up on the mattress, crooking his leg.

"I'm tired _,"_ he informed Dorian.

"So you've said." Dorian's voice carried a sort of affectionate amusement; Finn felt the bed shift, felt him press a kiss to his forehead. "Three times now, actually. Are you afraid I'll keep forgetting and eventually ask you to sprint laps around Skyhold?"

"No jogging right now," Finn said, smirking. He didn't bother to open his eyes; his lids were too heavy. "I am  _not_ a masochist."

"Nor am I a sadist," Dorian said. A hand gently skimmed Finn's stomach, splaying flat on it. "I hadn't noticed these before. Are all of your scars from Redcliffe?"

Finn finally cracked his eyes open, and saw Dorian staring down at him, obviously waiting for an answer.

"Only that one," Finn said, pointing to the largest of them, a crescent-shaped scar in the middle of his abs, still pinkish and raw as it healed. He idly mused that all of his other scars were probably quite a disturbing sight to look at, and the way they scattered the blue  _vallaslin_  lines on his stomach…not good. "The rest…well, they're the reason I'm scared shitless of bears. Have I told you about the bear thing? I have a bear thing."

Dorian raised an eyebrow, his thumb running gently back and forth over the crescent scar, bumping over the unevenly healing skin. "Go on."

Finn briefly chewed on his tongue. "A little over a year ago," he said. "Two clanmates and I had been reading up on battlemage techniques. I'd call them  _dirth'ena enansal;_ you'd probably use the word knight-enchanter. Regardless… I was so fascinated by the idea of invulnerability that I took my staff and tromped out alone into the woods." When he laughed, even  _he_  could tell how dark and bitter it sounded. "There'd been a great bear too close to the clan, see, and it was freaking everyone out. So I attacked her. I don't remember precisely how. It doesn't really matter. I hadn't gotten the barrier spell right, either. She, uh…gored me." He pointed to a lower one, a sliver nearly connecting both of his hipbones. "This was where she pulled my innards partially out."

Dorian stroked the backs of his fingers over the long scar. Then he leaned down and touched his lips to it, kissing it ever so gently.

Emotion flooded through Finn like a rapidly rising tide, and he swallowed thickly.

"I take it you didn't  _die_ during this attack," Dorian said, lifting his head.

"I kicked the bucket," Finn teased. "You're actually hallucinating."

Dorian laughed. "I'll take what I can get."

"But in reality," Finn said, "my clan sent out a hunting party to come get me. One of the clan's warriors carried me back the whole way. And  _that_ is my tragic backstory. Would you believe the wisecracking, sailor-mouthed elf actually had a traumatic tale to share? I'm full of surprises."

"I take it that's where the scar on your face came from," Dorian said, motioning to the long scar over Finn's right eye.

"Mmm-hmm." Finn nodded. "I've panicked at the sight of bears ever since. Embarrassing, I know."

"No. Not embarrassing." Dorian's storm-grey eyes were suddenly intense, fixed on Finn's. "I'll tell you this much, Finn—this will  _not_ happen again."

"Are you going to drive them to extinction yourself?" Finn said, smiling.

Dorian chuckled. "Why not?"

"Well  _someone_ just got even more sexy," Finn teased. "Didn't know that was possible."

"Multiple miracles in one day," Dorian said, standing and retrieving his clothes to put them on; Finn took that as a perfect opportunity to shamelessly ogle him. Once fully clothed, Dorian put his hands on his hips and turned to look at Finn, raising an eyebrow. "I take it you'll want some sort of goodnight farewell?"

"Farewell? What is this  _farewell?"_ Finn found his own clothes and slipped into them with lightning speed. "Where are you going?"

"…back to my quarters?" Dorian said, like he didn't understand what Finn was going on about.

Finn's face fell. "You don't want to stay?"

"Stay?" Dorian repeated. He blinked, looking away. "I hadn't even considered such a thing."

It was going to take considerable effort for Finn to keep reminding himself that Dorian hadn't been trained in the ways of relationship clinginess.

"And now that you  _have?"_ Finn said, tentatively reaching out his hand.

Dorian smiled, just as tentatively, and took it.


	36. Getting Down to Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shameless Mulan puns abound...ahem. I'll just hide under a rock over there.
> 
> I'm so thrilled by the comments you guys have been giving me! All of you are absolutely wonderful readers and you're the reason I keep posting. :)

Finn  _liked_ sleeping. He really did. He liked making absolute anarchy of his sheets and blankets, liked sprawling out with every limb flung sideways, liked the pure bliss of soft mattress beneath them.

But he was discovering that he liked sleeping in someone else's arms even more.

He wasn't precisely awake yet—even  _Finn_ could determine that much, the way his mind shifted back and forth between reality and a delirious dreamlike state. But even so he knew the arms encircling him were Dorian's, knew it was Dorian's chest his head was resting on, knew the slightly smoky aroma Dorian always had encircling him like a cloak.

He made a contented noise and snuggled closer, not bothering to open his eyes—he wasn't awake, anyway. Why get up? He was awfully comfortable where he was.

A hand combed through his hair, and Finn sighed softly.

"Finn," said a voice, one he really liked listening to. "Wake up, would you?"

Finn made a sort of grumbling noise and drifted back to dreamland. Or so he thought. The hand skimmed down to his shoulder, squeezing it, shaking it slightly.

"Finn."

Finn nuzzled his cheek sleepily against Dorian's chest. "Ma, the  _meatloaf."_

He heard and felt the resulting laughter. Then the voice came again. "And what's the matter with the meatloaf, Finn?"

"It's purple," he mumbled. "And it doesn't like that. It wants to be a man."

"What is it with you and the color purple?" said the voice. "First those unhappy pancakes, now this. Are all of your dreams purple? Is that the only color you see? I wonder about you sometimes."

"You need to make a man out of the meatloaf," sleeping Finn insisted. "To defeat the Templars."

There was laughter again, and this time, the motion was enough to shake Finn back into the realm of the awake and the living. He blinked, lifted his head, rubbed his forehead with his free hand, and let his bleary eyes focus.

Dorian was looking up at him from where he lay on his back, nearly under Finn, his head resting on a floofy Orlesian pillow, his ebony hair ruffled in slight disarray. And there was an amused glint in his eyes as he brushed his fingers along Finn's cheek, combed them through the soft white waves of his hair.

"…was I really just talking about meatloaf?" Finn said, furrowing his brows and draping his arm over Dorian's chest.

Dorian chuckled, his diaphragm rising and falling beneath Finn's arm. "You are a  _very_ silly elf."

"Mythal's arse," Finn said. "I have issues."

"Don't we all?" Dorian smiled affectionately, continuing his absentminded caressing of Finn's hair.

Finn took a moment to suck in a calm breath through his nose, then let it go, marveling at how relaxed he felt—every muscle felt slack, unknotted, and it wasn't just residual sleepiness. It was a sort of…serenity, he decided, if he had to pick a word. Sure, the world was going to hell in a handbasket all around them, but Finn wasn't a 'big picture' kind of guy.

"So," he said, skimming one palm along Dorian's chest over the fabric of his tunic, "what's the itinerary for today? See how much steak we can skewer on Bull's horns before he notices? Pick up crocheting? Read poems to the elderly?"

Dorian snorted. "Nothing so pedestrian, I'm afraid." He idly skimmed a thumb and two fingers around the long point of Finn's ear, as if marveling at its shape. "Your sister and that strapping young Templar of hers have decided—"

"Of  _hers?"_ Finn repeated, his thoughts catching on those two words.

Dorian lifted an eyebrow. "Must you interrupt me so boorishly?"

Finn frowned. "Sorry. But—hers? What is this  _hers?_ I haven't been gone  _that_ long."

"It's a recent development," Dorian said. "I only heard it when it voyaged its merry way down the grapevine yesterday morning.  _Supposedly_ Sera caught Nanyehi sneaking Commander Cullen a quick kiss after a war table meeting, and  _she_ made a passing comment to Iron Bull about how Cullen needed a woman over him in more ways than one, and Bull so very graciously informed me of this after asking me why my frilly mage-skirts didn't have a bustle in them." His mouth twisted in a wry look. "There you have it. My rendition of a completely banal chain of dialogue."

"…huh." Finn thought a moment, drumming his fingers on Dorian's chest.

"A rare moment, when I speak more than  _you_ ," Dorian commented. "What's going on in that head of yours, pray tell? Are you going to challenge Cullen to a duel and contest his claim on your sister? Because I can't say I would mind watching such a display."

"A duel of wits, maybe?" Finn teased. "I kid. I'd get my arse handed to me." One side of his mouth lifted in a smile. "But, no. I'm just surprised she didn't mention it immediately, is all." Rather hypocritical of himself, he thought, considering he hadn't even mentioned his dalliances with Dorian to Nani in the slightest, and she'd just found out on her own. "I will, however, give her shit about not telling me. Because that's what big brothers are for."

"And thus, he takes the high road," Dorian teased in return.

"Or the pansy road," Finn said. "If we had to use swords, Cullen would kick my arse into next week."

"And why's that?" Dorian said with an incredulous look.

"Scrawny elf, remember?"

" _What?_ You're an  _elf?_ I would never have known until you  _said so,_ Finn. It makes so much sense now."

"You're hilarious," Finn quipped.

"I try." Dorian brushed a hand down Finn's shoulder, along his arm. "And  _scrawny?_ Might I point out that you're rather muscular for elven standards?"

He was probably right. Even Finn knew he was decently broad in the shoulders, more so than a lot of the elves wandering around Skyhold. He wasn't bulky by any means, but he wasn't a bundle of twigs either.

"Noticed these?" Finn laughed, mostly at himself, and flexed his tattooed bicep.

Dorian chuckled in return, his eyes darkening a touch. "Mmm. And where'd you get those, I wonder?"

"The quartermaster," Finn blurted out.

Dorian burst into laughter, a bright, genuine grin breaking out across his features. "Sweet Maker, our quartermaster is dealing in elven arms these days? What has the world come to?"

"I'd be worried, if I were you," Finn said. Something occurred to him. "Shite. I never let you finish that sentence. What was supposed to be going on today?"

"Ah. That." Dorian returned to his previous train of thought. "Nanyehi and her advisors want to make sure the Inquisition is well-prepared to assault Adamant soon. I expect everyone will be out on the grounds training. As for myself…I've got some magical study to do that's been long overdue."

Finn pushed himself to a sitting position, then stood, stretching his arms over his head and getting a crick out of his back. "May as well get the day started, then," he said; maybe someone on the grounds would be willing to spar with him. Or maybe Vivienne wanted to do some knight-enchanter training. Either way, Finn was looking forward to moving around a bit and getting some energy out.

As he was slipping out of his previous clothes and yanking the new ones on, he heard Dorian sit up at a leisurely pace; Finn had perfected the fine art of speed-changing, though, so he was already in fresh under-armor by the time Dorian pushed off the bed and stood.

Finn grabbed his staff—which he vaguely remembered propping against the wall yesterday—and bemusedly ran his hand along the shaft.

"Don't wait for me," Dorian insisted. "I'll be a little while longer."

"If you say so." Finn smiled, and turned for the door, only to jump a little when he felt Dorian give his rear a resounding smack.

He turned his head, and Dorian just gave him a lopsided smirk, then stepped out of range; Finn snickered, shot a smirk back at him, and slipped out the door.

* * *

It was oddly sunny and warm outside today, Finn marveled as he whipped his staff around and smacked the butt of it against a straw dummy, making sure he hadn't gotten rusty with the motions of rapid-firing.  _Smack—smack—smack._ He wielded it like a double-bladed pole-arm, hitting the dummy with as much force as he could coax out of his muscles, and he was breathing heavily by the time he decided a break was in order.

Battlemages had to be more than simple spellcasters, after all. They had to know how to handle the front lines of war, and a solid knowledge of weapon-wielding couldn't hurt. Finn wasn't terribly skilled with a standard blade, but swinging his old staff through the air always felt more than natural.

Wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, he regarded Skyhold's grass-covered grounds. There were people sparring everywhere, whether with straw dummies or each other—Nani was a quick, flitting little thing amongst all of them, checking progress, making observations, almost constantly moving. Finn could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was nervous.

He wasn't…much. Sure, Adamant wouldn't be a skip through a daisy field, but Finn did love to fight.

"Water?" he heard, behind him, and he turned to see Warden Mahariel offering him a flask. It was a fancier flask than he'd been expecting, one with a glossy, silvery sheen to it and a large dragon emblem etched into the front, along with some initials:  _W & H. _Certainly not hers.

She really was tiny, Finn mused, especially amongst all the humans here in Skyhold.  _He_ wasn't exactly a towering figure himself, but Shesi was small, lean, the faint lines of wiry muscle somewhat visible on her dark arms as she stretched out the flask. The sunlight fired off her deep brown hair, lighting strands of it in rich mahogany and chocolate hues.

Finn took the flask with a smile, knocking back a deep gulp of cold water before handing it back to her.

" _Enaste,"_ Finn said, before remembering that the elven ranger didn't speak any elvish. "You just happened to have that? That's not your flask, is it?"

"Not at all." Shesi looked unabashed as she took the flask back from him; her young black wolf bounded to her side from somewhere else on the grounds and sat immediately, pressing against her calf. "Nabbed it off someone in Denerim."

"So you haven't been thieving at all here in Skyhold?" Finn asked.

Shesi snickered. "I wouldn't say  _that."_ She reached into one of the leather pouches secured around her waist. "You have any need for mints? A hair beret? Orlesian cologne? A sapphire-encrusted belt buckle?" She moved on to the adjacent pouch. "A length of cord? A piece of aquamarine? Leather polish? Adder venom?"

"…that got violent pretty quickly," Finn said.

Zevran, his hair glinting white-gold in the sunlight, jogged over to stop at Shesi's side, apparently intrigued by their dialogue; he offered Finn a " _buongiorno, amico_ " before sifting through his own belt of leather pouches. "Are we examining equipment? Bartering? I have a couple of smoke bombs, should you have need. Ah, and of course the spider venom—"

Finn raised an eyebrow. "You people are walking around with poison and bombs on your person? Should I be running?"

"Never turn your back to an assassin, my handsome friend," Zevran said with a bit of a dark laugh.

Shesi knuckled Jinx's scruff, and the black wolf thumped his bushy tail on the grass. "Well, Finn, before that conversation derailed, I'd been planning on letting you know that we intend to join you for Adamant. I know you're not the one in charge—but your sister already knows, and I thought I'd tell you as well. So you'll be familiar with who you're fighting with out there."

Finn nodded an affirmation. "You and Zevran?"

"And Ellie." Shesi jerked her head sideways, and Finn followed that line of vision, towards where the slender elven healer was currently working on a scrape on a soldier's arm. "Much as I'd rather she stay out of the fighting, with her fatigue, she brought up that the Inquisition will very likely need a healer on the field." She sighed. "Nothing I can do."

It wasn't as though they had another healer to replace Ellie's skills. Finn knew the blonde mage was tired from that Corypheus-generated Calling, but from the way she flitted from person to person, mending scrapes and aches, she was hiding it pretty well.

"I'm sure Nani won't let her get hurt," Finn said.

"Hopefully not," Shesi said, her deep green eyes tightening a little.

Zevran seemed to notice this, and changed the subject with a wink. "Care to spar,  _bella donna?_ Whip me into submission? Use me as a—"

"—The first one," Shesi said with a bit of a knowing smirk. "For now, that is. See you around, Finn."

"Try not to kill anyone," Finn said lightheartedly, briefly watching both elven rogues and the wolf walk off before he set off on his own course through the grounds.

Occasionally, training companions and friends caught his eye; he spotted River, Varric and Sera practicing with a red-and-white painted archery target, Blackwall and Cassandra sparring, Cole carrying a sack of plums and quickly vanishing out of sight—wait, who was that last one? Finn already forgot. Shrugging, he kept walking, passing by Iron Bull and a few of his Chargers.

"All right, Dalish, show me your ice wall." Bull's voice. "I want to test how strong it is."

"With  _what_?" That accent belonged to Dalish, Bull's appropriately named elven mage.

"…your staff."

"I don't  _have_ a staff, chief."

"For fuck's sake—use your  _bow."_

"Your magical bow." Krem's voice came now, accompanied by a snicker.

"Don't  _say_ such a thing," said Dalish's voice.

Finn heard Bull grunt, then looked over to see Dalish make an ice wall surge up from the grassy ground. Not bad, although there was probably a bit too much veining in it; it would crack more easily, with those fissures. Still, it was difficult to blast out an ice wall while focusing on sealing said fissures, and other than that, Dalish's ice wall—her completely non-magical ice wall from her non-magical bow—looked rather good.

He kept going, coming upon an interesting sight: Dorian standing a few paces away from Solas, facing him, listening intently to something Solas was saying.

Those two hadn't gotten along terribly well before this. Finn was intrigued.

"…you must concentrate on  _shielding,_ not these ostentatious exhibitions you call spellcasting," Solas was saying. "Bend the veil around you—or around your desired target. The amount of concentration is not easy, but it is necessary."

"Ostentatious exhibitions?" Dorian repeated, staff in hand. "Surely you simply mean  _art."_

"Did you hear any of what I told you?"

"Naturally. I'm good at multitasking."

Finn saw a storm brewing on the near horizon, so he jogged the remaining steps to them, making sure they both noticed him before he interrupted. " _On dhea, falon,"_ he greeted Solas. "Barrier spell? Did I hear correctly?"

" _On dhea, lethallin,"_ Solas returned. "I'm making the attempt to teach Dorian the basics of barriers, although I'm not certain he can hear me over his outfit."

"What's that?" Dorian said. "I didn't quite catch it. Sometimes I forget you're standing right there. You're always so  _nondescript."_

Finn cleared his throat, loudly. "Dorian, why are you learning a barrier spell?"

"Why not?" Dorian said.

Solas chuckled, apparently deciding to subvert Dorian's non-answer. "You should know, Finirial, that he came to me a couple of days ago and implored me to teach him something he could 'help an impossibly reckless companion of his' with. I cannot possibly fathom who he was speaking of."

"Such tact, Solas," Dorian grumbled.

Finn's heart gave a single loud  _thump_.

After all those years studying magic in Tevinter, the  _nexus_ of magical study, the only thing that had finally prompted Dorian to learn a barrier spell was…Finn. And aside from making pleasant heat flood through him, it brought the coming battle into painful perspective—this  _wouldn't_ be easy. Exhilarating as fighting could be, these Wardens and their demons would be a challenge to survive and take down.

Finn shifted on his feet, breathed in, everything suddenly in sharper focus.

What if someone else got hurt. Or, worse, died? Finn couldn't spread himself thin enough to protect everyone he knew effectively.  _What if?_

Finn swallowed hard, and made up his mind to listen to the rest of Solas's lesson…just in case.


	37. Breaking the Unbroken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where things start getting a little....intense :) Apparently the in-game Fade was not terrifying enough for my liking.
> 
> Cheers! Thank you all for your much-loved attention!

Finn considered himself to be fairly sturdy, especially compared to other elven mages he'd encountered through the years…but even he was nearly getting blown about like a ship's sail in a storm, with the way the rain was pouring and lashing over Adamant's outskirts at the moment.

A part of him wondered why in hell it was raining at present. Wasn't this the  _desert?_ Did the sky just decide their battle needed a gloomier ambiance and the chance of being hit by a flash of white-hot lightning? Finn usually didn't mind cold or rain, but this was just  _silly._

The weather was a cacophony of sounds, of rain spitting and drumming, of lightning crashing, of clouds rumbling heavy and grey above. The sand had been soaked through into a soupy, silty mixture that kept getting between Finn's toes, and the dusky air was making it a touch difficult to see well. It must've been worse for the people all around them, the ones marching forward and the ones standing to survey the fort looming ahead of them.

They were surrounded on all sides by people and equipment at the moment—footsoldiers, archers, trebuchets, ladders, and of course a battering ram, which a host of soldiers with shields were pushing towards Adamant this very instant. It was such a cluster of bodies that Finn nearly lost Dorian a few times in the shuffle, but those few times he unapologetically grabbed the fellow mage's elbow and kept a hold.

Sure, separating probably wouldn't be fatal—probably—but what if Finn lost sight of Dorian during the battle and one of them didn't make it out alive? He just couldn't risk that.

Maybe he was getting over-attached. Oh well.

"This is all very macabre, isn't it?" Dorian said from where he stood next to Finn, only a couple inches away, speaking loudly over the din of voices and stomping boots. "And you're enduring this _barefoot."_

Finn—and just about everyone—had been outfitted for battle about an hour outside Adamant, and he'd staunchly refused any sort of footwear other than his own leather Dalish greaves with the wraparound arch straps. He'd relented to wearing lightweight bracers and pauldrons and a breastplate over his dark blue leather and silvery metal scout armor, though, just in case his own battlemage-ing put him in the way of a harsh blow.

"You're enduring this with your feet crammed into sweaty leather casings," Finn pointed out.

"They're  _toasty,"_ Dorian said.

Finn shrugged.

Nani whistled and signaled them over, and Finn and Dorian threaded their way out of the crowd, towards where Nani and the others were beginning to cluster. Cassandra and Blackwall were already flanking Nanyehi, both armed to the teeth and sporting heavy metal armor. Varric and River were side by side, two peas in a pod, Varric looking vastly more grim than her; Sera was fiddling with the strap on her quiver of arrows, mumbling something about demons. Solas arrived and stood next to Finn, and then Shesi jogged up with Zevran and Ellie in tow. Finn caught sight of Iron Bull giving a last minute enthusiastic lecture to his Chargers, and there was Vivienne somewhere not too far off, instructing a group of allied mages.

Then there was Cole, a barely perceptible flicker of a being occasionally appearing amongst the soldiers, though few seemed to notice him. Finn spotted Cullen near the front of the mass of soldiers, shooting a glance Nani's way now and then.

Almost everyone was here—save those who'd stayed behind to manage Skyhold—and for good reason. This demon army was no joke. Any that had been frozen into ice sculptures by Finn had likely been replaced and multiplied even further.

"Listen up!" Nani said, getting everyone's attention. Her hair had been tied into a tight bun, Finn noticed, her face pale ivory under the pine-green marks of Dirthamen. "I think this is going to work best if we split up into smaller groups and spread out. Bull—you've got your Chargers. I need you to stay on the ground and help hold the bulk of the battlefield. And I'm sending Cole with you. Take care of him."

"Yes, ma'am!" Bull rumbled, saluting.

Nani briefly looked past them at where Adamant stood, much closer than it had seemed seconds ago. "The rest of us are taking the ramparts once that battering ram gets the gate open. Shesi, Zevran, I want you to lead one group and help the soldiers hold the choke points. Blackwall, Sera, Solas, Varric, go with them. And if I hear about any elf-related spats or injuries, someone dies."

Shesi bowed her head once.

"The rest of you…" Nani bobbed her finger through the air, pointing at Cassandra, Finn, Dorian, River, Ellie, and Stroud where he stood somewhere near Cullen. The older Warden noticed her gesturing and approached. "…you're all coming with me. We reach Clarel and Erimond  _no matter what_ and stop the rituals. Understood?"

There were general noises of understanding and approval, and then everyone began the most morose thing Finn had ever experienced—the pre-battle goodbyes.

River was kneeling to hug Varric tight, loudly making Bianca promise to keep him safe and whatnot, and Ellie, Shesi, and Zevran had already grabbed each other in a three-way hug and were whispering things Finn couldn't hear. Then Finn nearly lost his footing when Nani tackled him in a tight embrace, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"We're going the same way, Nani," Finn reminded her.

"This could  _still_ be goodbye," Nani said, tightening her hold.

Finn snorted. "Don't be such a wet blanket. We're going to get in there, open up a big can of arse-kicking, stop that shit ritual, and go home."

"Shit ritual," Sera repeated. "Shitual?"

"That's why I like you," Finn said over Nani's shoulder to her, chuckling.

"You're easily amused, aren't you?" Dorian pointed out.

Nani eventually let him go, although her aquamarine eyes were glassy and tight with unease. This was the first  _big_ battle she'd really led, Finn knew; at least she had Cullen.

Who was heading over now, coincidentally.

"We're about to reach Adamant, Nanyehi," Cullen said, reaching her and letting a hand rest on her shoulder. She looked willowy and small next to his heavily armored form. "I can guarantee the Wardens up on the ramparts will start pelting us with ranged attacks once we're close enough, so be careful. We'll get you a way in and keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can."

"I'm always careful," Nani reassured him. "You know that."

Cullen took both of her shoulders in his hands now, squeezing them, obvious concern flickering all over his face. He kept his eyes locked on her for a moment, and she held his gaze unwaveringly, and Finn watched them, recalling Dorian's words on the matter of his sister's new human paramour.

Seemingly noticing Finn's attention, Cullen glanced over at him, and Finn did what any self-respecting big brother would do—stared him down and cracked his knuckles one by one.

Cullen's face was  _priceless._ Whether he knew Finn was just messing with him or not, he let go of Nani's shoulders, awkwardly cleared his throat, and said, "our men will be at your back, Nanyehi.  _Be safe._ I— _we_  need you coming out of here alive."

"I'll do my best," Nani promised.

She reached for his hand, which he seemed to gladly give, and squeezed it once; then they parted, and he turned his back to run back to the head of the army, and she returned her focus to everyone standing with her.

"Are we ready?" Nani asked them all, wringing her hands together. "This won't be easy. You all know that. We'll have to be at our absolute best right now."

"Not difficult, for those select few of us who are  _always_  at their best," Dorian said, his usual pre-battle-cockiness seeping into his voice.

Nani rolled her eyes.

"Have you got that can of arse-kicking ready, Finn?" River asked him, pushing to her feet.

Finn grinned. "Always do."

* * *

Was it minutes, hours, or days before they reached the doorway to the central courtyard? River didn't rightly know.

Her skin was crawling with residual demonic ichor and ash, and now she braced her hands on her thighs and coughed, trying to get the magic-sickened air out of her lungs. This was just like the Gallows during the Kirkwall Rebellion, except there had actually been some  _sun_ overhead when they'd taken down Knight-Commander Meredith. This weather here, the pounding rain and lightning booms and frigid grip of the air, seemed to be gradually weakening everyone  _but_ Finn.

Ice-devil, that one. But even the usual snowy white of his hair was all streaked through with the gray of demonic ash and a few crimson rivulets of blood—no one here was completely unscathed.

It reminded her of Fenris, how his hair always told the story of what they'd been fighting and where. White was such a stain-able color. Yet thinking of Fenris made her wish so fervently he was here that she had to shut off her thoughts and focus on the Inquisitor instead.

Ellie briefly grasped River's shoulder; River looked over when the elven healer's grip tightened and saw her cough into a subtly shaking hand. It seemed the (false or not) Calling and the blood magic in the air was affecting her badly, and she was using River to steady herself for a moment.

"I don't like it either," River said softly.

"The air feels so… _sick_ ," Ellie said, leaning for one last moment and letting go.

Nanyehi grasped the door handle in one delicate porcelain hand, glancing at the rest of them. "It's almost over," she said, her voice sounding more confident than she appeared. "I know we're all exhausted, but there's a ritual going on in there that  _has_ to be stopped."

"We are with you, Inquisitor," Stroud said firmly.

Nanyehi swung the heavy door open and led them inside.

Even amongst the shrieking of demons and the crackling of magic, River could hear the telltale slice of a knife and the thump of a body hitting the ground; she ran after Nanyehi and skidded to a stop in the courtyard when the elf did, looking all around her with a growing sense of unease and disgust.

There was a swirling green miasma choking the courtyard's air, sizzling and spitting as if it burned, barely affected by the continuous drum of the rain. Only Finn and Nanyehi were in front of her now, making it not-so-hard for River to see the two figures up above them on the courtyard's upper level, separated by a low, decorative wrought-iron fence—Erimond and Clarel.

River bristled.

The Wardens standing nearby faced them and moved a few steps towards them, putting themselves protectively in the middle, but didn't attack. Yet.

"Stop this!" Nanyehi yelled, stepping forward; everyone's attention was fixed on her. "Clarel, you're playing right into Erimond's hands!"

"By doing  _what?"_ Erimond snapped back, playing the innocent, even though at the ritual tower he'd spilled every bit of his nefarious plans like the most corny of villains. "Fighting the Blight? Keeping the world safe from darkspawn? Oh  _no!_ What a preposterous thing to do! Whatever could Thedas need world safety for?"

River rather wanted to tear the smug look right off his smug Tevinter face.

"So the ritual requires blood sacrifice!" Erimond continued his monologue. "Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty!"

"We make the sacrifices no one else will!" Clarel said. "Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never—"

"Just like they did during the Fifth Blight?" came Ellie's voice, and the small Warden stepped ahead of Nanyehi and Finn, her shoulders squared. "Just like they ignored Loghain's orders and saved the world anyway?"

River half expected the Wardens near them to attack her, but they didn't—Warden Surana had  _been_ in Denerim during the final battle of the Fifth Blight, and that put her and her companions at close to a heroic level with the other Wardens. They glanced among themselves, looking conflicted, but didn't draw their weapons against her.

Clarel, it seemed, had nothing to say to Ellie's words; River knew she herself had let the Orlesian Wardens be turned aside at the Fereldan border, let only five Fereldan Wardens lead the country against the Archdemon. She was staring at Ellie with a sort of bleak confusion on her face, obviously thrown off.

"Knife-eared bitch," Erimond spat. "You dare come here after turning traitor to your brothers and sisters?"

Ellie winced, but didn't back away. "I've looked an Archdemon in the eye!" she said, causing a wave of murmurings among the Wardens standing there. "What my companions did on the top of Fort Drakon was 'heroic'! What the Dalish and the dwarves of Orzammar and the knights of Redcliffe and the mages of Kinloch Hold did was 'heroic'!" Her voice raised in pitch ever-so-slightly. "You want your Wardens to be 'heroes', Clarel? Call of the ritual and stop feeding your men straight to Corypheus!"

"Corypheus?" Clarel repeated, her eyes widening. "But he's dead—"

"Don't let  _her_ shake your confidence, Clarel!" Erimond said, pointing a finger down at Ellie. "She's the Inquisitor's  _pet_ now. She'll say anything to take down the  _true_ faction of Wardens."

Clarel passed a hand over her forehead.

Silence. Waiting.

"Bring it through!" the Orlesian Warden-Commander shouted.

_Shite._ Really?!

Five Warden mages stood in a circle in the middle of the courtyard, pointing their hands inward, unleashing trails of vivid green magic that sparked, bursting into a telltale rippling green scar…

A rift.

And there was something just inside it to, something  _massive;_ River could only get a glimpse of its hide through the wobbling green shimmer of the rift. Nanyehi moved upwards with a frustrated growl and stood beside Ellie, and the Wardens closed ranks around them, ready to attack. River stepped up to join them, her features involuntarily constricting into a sneer.

"You don't want to do this!" she said. When she took another breath to speak, the miasma burned her throat. "I've seen enough blood magic to last all of your lifetimes! It's  _never_ worth the cost!"

"I trained half of you myself!" Stroud shouted. "Do not make me kill you to stop this madness!"

The demon within the rift made a rumbling snarl, rattling River's bones; she braced her feet, clenching her jaw.

_If she brings this through, Corypheus wins,_ River thought. Normally she had a rather unshakable sense of things turning out all right in the end, but…  _There's no way we can take this thing down. It's huge._

Now, more than anything, River  _ached_ to have Fenris at her side.

"Ellie—" Nanyehi said.

"No one knows the Wardens' sacrifices more than I do!" Ellie said. "Or Shesi! Or Palla! Or Warden-Commander Corvis! Or King Alistair!" She threw her hands in the air, as if to emphasize the words. "Do you  _honestly_ think all of us would stand against our brothers and sisters if we didn't think you all were being misused?"

"We didn't waltz out here just to get some sick thrill out of harming the Wardens!" Finn shouted, coming to his sister's side. " _None of us wanted to do this!"_

"Stand down!" Nanyehi ordered. "We'll do anything it takes to avoid hurting you!"

"Except for Erimond," Finn said, quietly, sotto voce. "Knobheaded gobshite can choke on a bucket of dicks."

River snorted a laugh before she could stop herself. She'd been deliriously swapping Finn's slightly smaller image with Fenris's, she realized now, doing it without thinking, but that shattered the delusion pretty quick.

Their words (at least, not Finn's last words, the Wardens didn't seem to have caught those) had gotten through to them—River could see the impact flash across the Wardens' faces. They looked at Ellie, then at each other, then turned fully to stare at Warden-Commander Clarel up above them.

Clarel's faith in Erimond was visibly crumbling, like an old slab of sandstone—chipping away, each chunk bigger than the last, until the slab was nothing but a pile of dust blowing away in the wind...

"Perhaps…perhaps we could test the truth of the Inquisition's claims," Clarel said, turning to Erimond. "It wouldn't be too much—"

"Or perhaps I should have found myself a more reliable ally," Erimond said, grimacing. He pounded the butt of his staff against the stone beneath him; it sent up little red sparks on each impact. "My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me  _this_  to welcome you!"

River  _knew_ the keening roar and the surging of strong wings above, knew intimately the way the hair raised on the back of her neck. She'd only fought a bona fide dragon once, but she'd foolishly hoped that time had been her final excursion into the dragon-fighting world.

The dragon's great black wings lashed the rain in all directions, made everyone spread their feet apart and brace hard against the ground to avoid being blown over. It swept low over the courtyard, spitting out an electric stream of red magic; River grabbed Stroud by the elbow and yanked them both out of the magic's path at the last minute.

"Some gift," Nanyehi growled after a moment, scrambling back to her feet.

The dragon made another sweep over the courtyard—all while Erimond looked on with the expression of a proud, gratified parent, the  _wanker_ —and settled its clawed feet on a section of ramparts. It studied them all from above, its jagged rows of teeth bared, dripping with acidic spit.

River reached for her bow, eyes on the dragon.

There was a commotion behind her, up where Clarel and Erimond were, that she ignored—because, really, who in their right mind took their eyes off a giant-arse dragon because of a little bit of noise—but soon enough something else caught her attention: a purplish ball of lightning striking the dragon's hide.

River snapped her attention back up at the magister and the Warden-Commander, watching Clarel fire another lightning ball at the dragon. Her spells weren't powerful enough; they glanced off the black dragon and rippled around it, probably serving to make the creature angry rather than injured.

What luck.

Obviously agitated—or annoyed, possibly—the dragon took flight, its wings beating the rainy air into a frenzy as it took off away from them, circling over the fort. River had been distracted by its raw might, but a sharp cry from Nanyehi brought her attention back to the group.

"That way!" Nanyehi yelled, pointing. "They're running off!"

Clarel and Erimond were, indeed, no longer at their previous places. River had barely comprehended this before Nanyehi took off like a shot after them, and Finn sprang after her, catching up in no time at all.

River considered herself a fast runner, but she was no match for those two. She fixed on Finn's white hair as a beacon in the darkness, trusting her own legs and feet to keep her upright as she careened after them, upwards, her pulse heavy in her ears.

Never mind the whipping winds up here and the stray blasts of red electricity from the dragon; Nanyehi and Finn weren't backing down. River nearly lost them around a corner, skidded around it, and slammed to a stop behind the two elves just in time to see Erimond go down into a shower of sparks; the magister immediately curled into fetal position, his form smoking as he rocked back and forth.

Clarel seemed to have trapped him on the edge of the broken bridge out here; there was no way for him to go, save back where he'd come from, and River and the others were blocking that. No escape for him; River felt a bit of triumph take hold.

She couldn't catch what was being said, but it was impossible to miss when the great black dragon landed heavily on the bridge's cobbled stones, snaked its head down, snatched Warden-Commander Clarel in its jaws, and pushed back into the air.

So much for triumph.

" _Shite,"_ Nanyehi spat—a commonly uttered word these days—and took off down the bridge, even though the dragon had already cleared it. Aiming for Erimond, possibly. He didn't look dead. River followed her, trying to keep mental tabs on the dragon as it circled above and landed on a higher section of battlements to shake Clarel about like a chew toy.

If she survived that…well, River wasn't sure if anyone could.

Cassandra and Stroud both had their shields at the ready, watching the dragon; River had to admire their bravery. Even Finn looked ready to charge the thing, mage or no. Ellie's skin was paling rapidly, and Dorian just looked thoroughly displeased by the whole situation.

Erimond, near them, wasn't moving. River resisted the urge to kick him while he was down.

The dragon gave Clarel's body one last bone-breaking shake and flung her down to the bridge, just ahead of them; River winced at the audible crunch. But somehow, miraculously, the older Warden was rolling onto her back, sparks flickering around her fingers, as the dragon hopped down to the bridge and began to step towards the rest of them with a snarl rumbling in its throat.

"Stand your ground!" Cassandra yelled. "The dragon will catch you if you run!"

"In war…victory," Clarel groaned, as the dragon's steps rumbled the stones beneath them.

"I think—" Ellie started.

"In peace…vigilance," Clarel said. The dragon was nearly over her, its red eyes honed in on Nanyehi.

"Stay  _still,"_ Finn urged.

"In death…" Clarel raised a lightning-covered hand.

The dragon stalked a step closer.

_Boom._

The dragon hurtled past them, off the lip of the bridge, with a deafening roar that made River cover her ears. The bridge beneath them quaked, and quite suddenly, there  _was_ no bridge. The stones gave way in massive chunks beneath them, and River bit back a shriek as she realized they were falling.

She tumbled towards the ground far below, sharp wind whistling past her ears like shrill screams in the darkness, rainwater whipping her body. Try as she might, she couldn't even  _tell_ if anyone was falling with her. She flailed her arms around her, grasping at empty, wet air as she spiraled out of control, losing vision, the air sucking right out of her lungs…

She found herself thinking of Fenris, searing hot pain blooming in her chest; she'd promised herself she'd come home safe to him one day, and yet here she was, falling to her death, never given the chance to say goodbye.

_I'm so sorry…_

Above her—a flash of green. A weird, stomach-twisting, flipping sensation. Then the air buffeted her like a giant swatting a fly, the force knocking the wind out of her, and in a matter of a few heartbeats she was hitting the ground.

* * *

Nani's left hand was  _burning._

Spitting, sizzling, trembling her whole arm like the limb had a mind of its own. The pain was blinding, choking her vision with a film of spotty black. She barely knew she was sitting cross-legged, trying to grip her left palm with her right hand, desperately attempting to smother the white-hot agony pulsating just under her skin.

"Ssh, ssh," someone was murmuring, attempting to sooth her, and delicate hands gripped her left palm, coaxing away her iron grip on herself; there was a surge of cooling magic, like she'd dipped her hand in a fresh mountain stream, and Nani slumped her shoulders, opening her eyes.

Warden Surana was kneeling in front of her, softly kneading Nani's palm with her thumbs, her eyes big and brown and fixed on Nani's face.

Nani took in a shuddering breath and looked around, a jolt of panic making its electric way up her spine.

The sky above was a sickly dark green, rippled through with shifts of smoky black. All around were jagged, craggy peaks of slick, oily black rock, reaching high into the green above. The air smelled of decay and despair, if despair was the noxious smell Nani was picking up at the moment. The ground she sat on was gritty and dark, the dirt so hard-packed it barely gave way under her weight. A tendril of a vivid green, scratchy, thorny plant poked up idly from the dirt and began to curl around Nani's thigh; she flinched, smacked it away with the back of her hand, and resumed her wide-eyed taking in of the surroundings.

"Is this…?" she started.

"The Fade," Ellie answered, sinking back on her rear and letting go of Nani's palm. "I don't know if you triggered your mark at will, but here we are."

Nani took in Ellie's appearance, her throat constricting. The Warden hadn't looked nearly so ill just a moment ago, before they'd fallen off the bridge. But now Ellie's skin was parchment-white, thin trails of bluish veins all over like watered down  _vallaslin_ , and her  _eyes—_ they were clouded, out-of-focus, the pupils a sort of deathly grey rather than the usual stark black.

"Are you all right?" Nani asked, even though she knew Ellie was most definitely  _not._

"Just a little tired," Ellie answered, her brows furrowing. "Why?"

"You look…" Nani searched for the right word. "Blight-sick."

Ellie cringed, holding one arm out so she could study the sudden pallor of her skin.

"It shouldn't have come so fast," Ellie finally said, her eyes bleak. "Look at this. This is  _late stage_ Blight-sickness." She looked up, at the warped green of the sky. "And Corypheus's Calling was fake...wasn't it? But I shouldn't be surprised. We  _are_ in the Fade, after all. Anything is possible here. Anything is true."

"In the Beyond," Nani mused aloud. "Did we…die? Or did something pull our spirits here?"

"Neither," Ellie said. She wrung her hands together, then pointed up, at what seemed to be a floating plane of black spires off in the distance next to a slow black and green vortex, suspended in the sky. "We're  _in the Fade,_ Nanyehi. See that? That's the Black City, I'm fairly certain. It  _should—"_ She broke off, standing, and spun herself in a slow circle. "It  _should_ shift constantly so it's always in the same spot in your vision, but it's  _fixed._ See? This is… _wow."_ She sat down again, looking flabbergasted. "Your mark sent us  _physically_ into the Fade."

Those weren't exactly words that Nani heard very often—or ever—so she blinked, trying to make sense of it. "Are you…certain?" she finally choked out, her throat tight with a sort of panic.

"Mages are here all the time, in dreams," Ellie said, nodding. "Like it or not, I know what this  _should_ look like."

" _Shite,"_ Nani cussed. This was less familiar to her than anything she could possibly imagine, and she sat in a sort of dumbfounded silence, eventually craning her head around to search around her. "I don't see anyone else…did you see them fall?"

Ellie shook her head.

Not good. Not good at all. Trapped physically in the Fade, separated from everyone…foolishly hoping they were just out of sight, Nani cupped her hands around her mouth, lifted her head, and yelled " _FINN!"_

Her words echoed around the craggy black spires, desperate and fading.

No answer.

Nani dropped her hands, her skin suddenly clammy. Her Anchor throbbed with pain again.

"I don't know how I opened the rift that sent us in," she finally said. "And at the moment, I think my Anchor is too weak to do it again."  _Calm down, self. This isn't hopeless. It can't be._ She stood, holding out a hand to Ellie and helping the slightly smaller elf to her feet. "We have to find them. No matter what.  _Then_ we all figure out how to escape the Beyond."

"I'm with you," Ellie promised.

Nani spotted her bow lying a few yards away, thankfully unharmed; another minute of searching yielded her quiver, and she was able to locate all but one arrow strewn around them. Their position was precarious, to say the least—no warrior, no mage with offensive spells, only an archer and a healer navigating their way through the Beyond. No doubt there'd be demons sniffing them out, too, since Ellie's mage aura would attract a few.

Not good. She kept repeating that in her head, and it just kept being more and more true.

At the very least, though, she wasn't  _alone._ Despite Ellie's obviously advancing sickness, she was still here…and Nani could be thankful for that.

Her Anchor flashed bright green again, stinging with pain, and Nani flinched.

"Let's just start walking," she said. "I've got no sense of direction here."

Ellie nodded. "Nothing else we can do."

* * *

Finn smashed against the hard-packed ground with  _way_ more force than was necessary, and the impact was enough to snap a black veil over his vision; he rolled onto his back with a pained groan and lay there, reeling, trying to coax air into his lungs.

A long moment passed and he still couldn't breathe, although the blackness was beginning to drip away from his eyes. He clawed at the gritty dirt beneath him, as if the movement would actually help him sit up. But his stunned body wouldn't respond to any attempt, and a sort of desperate choking noise rattled in his throat.

A familiar voice yelled his name, then there was Dorian, sinking to his knees next to Finn with a thud and grabbing him to lift him up. He didn't lift Finn all the way, just propped him up in tightly-held arms, and  _finally,_ something jarred loose in Finn's chest. He sucked in a loud breath, chest heaving, then had a coughing fit into his hands.

" _Festis bei umo canavarum,"_ Dorian said, shaking his head, waiting out Finn's coughing spell, his voice rough and his grey eyes wide. The moment Finn took a steady breath—having cured himself of the coughing—Dorian's arms tightened around him with almost bruising force and he crushed their mouths together.

Finn stifled a noise of surprise, mostly because Dorian was kissing him  _hard,_ too hard to really focus on making any noise at all; if he did, it might have been a moan, which would  _really_ have been inappropriate. Dorian's muscles were taut as a hide on a tanner's rack, his fingers digging into Finn's skin; when he finally pulled away, it was nothing short of a miracle that Finn's lungs graciously started working yet again.

Finn blinked, staring up at him, not sure he could depend on his own voice.

" _Don't. Do. That. Again,"_ Dorian growled, shaking him gently for emphasis with each syllable. "Never again. You hear me?"

"Do what?" Finn said.

"Fall to your death, you clueless twit!" Dorian snapped.

"I'm not  _dead,_ you tosser," Finn shot back.

"You  _might as well be,_ since you forgot to put a barrier over yourself."

"… _you_ fell too."

"I'm still cross with you. It's already decided."

"Turd."

" _Finn."_ Dorian's eyes, by now, were narrowed into near slits.

"Dorian," Finn said, mimicking him, shrugging one shoulder.

Half of Dorian's mouth turned up wryly. "Look at us. The moment we fall into the Fade, we devolve into petty insults and imbecilic arguments, completely blasé about our sudden twist of fates." He gave an almost wistful sigh. "Things are never dull with you, are they?"

"What do you  _mean,_ fall into—" Finn pulled slightly away from Dorian so he could look around him, and the hair rose on the back of his neck. Green sky, black rock peaks, the not-so-enticing aromas of demonic ichor and sludge…this was undoubtedly the Beyond. "…fuck a big bag."

"Whatever happened to the usual bucket?" Dorian asked.

"Fuck that too." Finn stood, absently dusting off his armor.

Dorian stood as well, looking about with an expression that was half concerned and half undeniably fascinated. "You realize this hasn't happened since my idiot countrymen 'soiled the Golden City and turned it black' and all, yes?"

So they were here  _physically._ Finn had suspected that; he'd been here countless times in spirit, after all. Still, no one really wanted to hear that. It wasn't Finn's idea of a joyous revelation.

"Nani's Anchor must've opened a rift," Finn said. That, of course, reminded him of his little sister, and a tingle of anxiety crawled along his spine. "I don't see her anywhere. Did you see her fall?"

"Regrettably, no." Dorian shook his head. "I haven't seen anyone else, as a matter of fact. Just you. Which is fortunate enough, considering your alarming tendency to sprint headfirst into suicidal situations without anyone there to smack you upside the head. Figuratively speaking."

"I've been working on that," Finn insisted, putting his hands on his hips and trying to think of where Nani—and the others—could've gone. "It seems like the blast from opening the rift separated us. Somehow."

A flash of deep red and aquamarine caught his eye, and he spotted his staff lying in the dirt—unbroken, thank the Creators. Finn rushed over and picked it up, the chill of its smooth wood familiar against his hands. It must've gotten flung apart from him during the fall, but at least it was here. Maybe he was being overly sentimental, but if he'd lost his staff…no, he didn't want to think about that. It was the only possession he really  _had._

He looked over at Dorian, another wave of relief washing through him. If Dorian had been hurt by the fall—or worse, killed—Finn wouldn't have forgiven himself.

A couple of silver linings there, at least. Finn trusted his own sense of direction and ability to track; he'd find the others. He wouldn't stop until he did. They couldn't be lost forever.

"I'd suggest making a lot of commotion with our magic to give the others our location…" Finn started.

"…but that commotion would undoubtedly attract demons to us," Dorian finished.

Lots of them. It was inevitable; Finn was just surprised they hadn't had any unwelcome demonic visitors  _already._ Two powerful mages? They were both bound to be crawling with attention like a rich man in an uptown brothel.

"So, on that point," Finn said, "I think our best bet is to search for  _them._ The blast can't have flung us leagues and leagues away from them. And if they get into a fight nearby, I'll be able to hear it."

He raised a hand to tug on the tip of his long, pointed ear, for emphasis, when the stark chill of ice against the rim of his ear made him realize his fingers were freezing.

Quite literally. Finn pulled his hands in front of his face, studying them. There was a thin layer of whitish ice forming around his hands, and when he flexed his fingers, the ice fissured with small cracks, flaked away, and formed again.

"What exactly are you doing?" Dorian asked, giving Finn a quizzical eyebrow lift.

"I'm not sure," Finn said, frowning. "I'm not doing this on my own."

Even worse, it was slowly creeping onto his wrists, too. Finn scrubbed his hands together, watching the bits of ice rain down from his hands and spatter against the ground. It was only a moment before his hands were thinly iced over again.

"Curious," Dorian said. "Your hands must be reacting to something in the Fade."

"…let's go," Finn said. "I'm starting to think this could turn into a much bigger problem than it is right now."


	38. Know Thy Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from holiday hiatus, guys! Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> Quick a/n: there's a name in this chapter that refuses to format correctly in italics, so there's two random spaces in it, and I've tried to fix it multiple times, but I figured I'd just post instead of pulling my hair out. So I apologize for the random wonky formatting!

_This is shit,_ River thought.  _This is a heaping pile of shit._

It hadn't taken her, Cassandra, and Stroud very long to realize they were separated from Nanyehi, Finn, Dorian, and Ellie, and that no amount of yelling could make their location easier to deduce. River's throat was already hoarse from calling out. Not to mention they'd landed  _in the Fade,_ of all places.

Both Cassandra and Stroud had, immediately, started reiterating exactly how unnatural it was that they'd landed here in the first place. This shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't  _be_ happening. River had finally interrupted from her seat on the ground that they should really stop standing here and saying the same thing over and over again, because it wasn't getting them anywhere.

To make matters even more hilarious, River had undoubtedly broken something in her leg upon impact. No matter how hard she leaned on poor Cassandra now, it was still difficult to walk with the sharp pain radiating from her left shinbone. Progress was slow going, and they'd only really been  _going_ for the past five minutes.

"Let's say we get out of here alive," River said, filling the terse silence. "Hypothetically. It  _could_ happen. If it does, you people are in way better shape than I am."

"And how is that?" Cassandra said in a sort of deadpan manner, adjusting her arm around River's back to keep a good hold.

"I'm dead either way," River said. "There's a good chance we're all going to end up as skin-colored smears while we're in the Fade. I'm just  _saying._ But if we find a way out of here, all of us, Fenris is going to find me and tear me limb from limb. I  _swear."_

Stroud was silent from where he walked behind them; River assumed he was keeping a watch for demons. That, or dozing off while he walked. Probably the first. Stroud didn't seem like the kind of guy who fell asleep on the job.

"I find myself doubting that," Cassandra said.

River wasn't so certain. Sure, maybe Fenris was always at his utmost gentle with her, but he was still an unholy terror in battle and could  _easily_ turn her into pulled pork if he felt the need. Not that he would hurt her, per se—she just didn't relish the thought of him finding out she'd fallen into the Fade after lying about her location and disappearing.

What a mess.

But wait. Cassandra's words—

"How would you know?" River asked. "You've never met Fenris. You don't know him."

"Varric told me a good deal about him," Cassandra said. "How much he loves you."

River's arm went slack, where it had been previously clinging to Cassandra's shoulders to keep herself upright. Her one good leg ached from being hopped on and taking all of her weight; she ignored it.

"Ah, that's right," River said, scowling. "Varric  _did_ tell me you took him hostage and tried to get my location out of him."

If Cassandra wasn't supporting all of River's weight, she might've yanked away and huffed at her.  _No one_ was allowed to hurt Varric. River would tear up a whole country just to keep her favorite dwarf happy. At least he was in better shape  _now,_ or River would've had to borrow Finn's can of arse-kicking and open that up.

After a long moment of awkward silence, Cassandra sighed heavily and said "if you must know, I was looking for you because I was desperate for an Inquisitor."

That took River by surprise.

"Why?" she asked. "You have—"

"I did not have Nanyehi at the time," Cassandra said. "I thought the Inquisition—and the  _Conclave—_ needed someone with as much influence as you. Perhaps you could have—"

"—could have what?" River interrupted. "Stopped what happened? If I couldn't protect Kirkwall from exploding, you think I could've protected everyone at the Temple?"

"You make a fair point," Cassandra conceded.

River chuckled. "It's been known to happen. Sometimes."

They didn't speak for a few minutes. Stroud cleared his throat a couple times behind them; poor guy must've been pretty affected by the nasty air here. River wasn't too fond of the Fade herself—the vomit-inducing sea of slick black rocks and green  _everything—_ but she didn't want to succumb to the air and make Cassandra shoulder any more of her weight.

"Tell me, then," Cassandra said, "were  _all_ of Varric's accounts true?"

"Would Varric exaggerate?" River teased. Of course he would. "Just don't believe anything he says about Wicked Grace. I never lost to Merrill."

She'd been about to say something else—something about Merrill literally always losing, most likely—when the ground shuddered beneath their feet, and a low, malevolent laugh rumbled around them. It didn't seem to come from any source or direction at all; River reached a hand back for her bow, regardless, her fingers just brushing its smoothed wood.

_Ah…River Hawke,_ the disembodied voice said, deep and gravelly.  _Champion of Kirkwall. Difficult to use your daggers with that broken leg of yours, isn't it?_

River bristled. The hair stood on end at the nape of her neck. She couldn't tell who was talking to her, but if she had to guess, it was a demon. (Fair guess, in the Fade.) A powerful one, at that. Cassandra stopped and looked around, searching for the origin of the voice, her brows pulled tightly together.

"I've got my bow," River shot back, clenching her jaw at a stab of pain from her shin.

_And are those arrows of yours unlimited?_ the voice continued.  _How brazen of you, to trust your bow and your aim when nothing you've ever done has ended in your favor._

"That's not—" River started.

"Do not indulge this creature," Stroud urged softly from behind them.

_Did you save Carver, when he fought the ogre to protect your mother? Don't you remember your poor little brother lying dead in the dirt? And your last words to him were angry ones. Such a pity._

River grit her teeth, painfully hard.

_Your sweet little sister, hauled off to be imprisoned into the Gallows,_ said the demon's voice.  _Your heartbroken mother, taken away and mutilated into a blood mage's puppet. You remember, don't you? All these tragedies. All these failures._

River choked, stumbling, sagging against Cassandra, who caught her and held her upright with what was probably a great deal of strength. Not fair…not fair bringing that up…

"Bethany is safe now!" River yelled up into the air, ignoring the little voice in her head that kept telling her to ignore the demon and just keep moving. She'd left her baby sister with Aveline; _nothing_ could get past that woman. "I made sure of that! And now we're going to find  _you_ and—"

_Is she? Where is she now, I wonder?_ A pause, so silent River could hear her own heart beating away in her ears.  _What of Fenris? Do you really think nothing has happened to him?_

Cassandra tugged on River, trying to get her to keep walking, but River had frozen where she stood.

The demon's voice, again:  _Can't you feel him dying? Maybe you should see it._

River opened her mouth to protest such a horrendous thing, but it was already too late. In the blackish mist ahead of them materialized Fenris's recognizable form—taut muscles under caramel skin, sleek white hair, iridescent blue-white lines all over, black armor with spiked pauldrons. He dropped to his knees and sagged his spine, his head falling back, the lyrium lines burning a brilliant blue…

" _Fenris!"_ River shrieked, throwing away all of her logic and reason. She surged forward, trying desperately to reach him; no matter that her one leg crumpled under the sudden shift and Cassandra had to catch her again and forcefully hold her back.

There was a boom, a burst of blue flame, an agonized scream, and then Fenris's image was gone.

" _No!"_ River cried, struggling in Cassandra's iron grasp, reaching forward, panting. "No! Fenris! No…"

Lyrium exploded like that, sometimes, without being provoked…it could happen…it could…Fenris…oh, Maker,  _no…_

"It was a trick, Hawke!" Cassandra loudly insisted, hauling her to a standstill, despite River's thrashing and clawing forwards to where she'd seen him. "Be still! This is what it wants!"

" _FENRIS!"_ River shrieked again, her vision blurring, head swimming, tingling at the tips of her fingers.

She barely even realized her face was streaked with hot tears.

* * *

Finn hurled a stonefist into the last demon in the ragtag assortment of stragglers that had just tried to prey on him and Dorian—a rage demon, and a weak one at that. It oozed back into the ground like melting lava rock, and Finn leaned on his staff, catching a quick breather.

It had probably been an hour or so of walking, by his estimates. Barely anything had changed about their scenery, except they'd passed what almost looked like a black, bubbling sulfur pit a few minutes ago. Naturally, they'd avoided that.

But Finn still hadn't caught any signs of anyone else. He was certain they were here, at least  _somewhere_ in the Fade, but they were proving impossible to track.

No matter. Keep trying.

Dorian made a clucking sound with his tongue; Finn looked over at him, watching him smooth his midnight black hair into its usual state—he was almost bummed he hadn't caught Dorian's hair in disarray before he'd done that. It was a rare sight.

"Your hands look worse, Finn," Dorian mentioned.

Ah, that must've been why he'd clicked his tongue. Finn spread his hands out in front of him, palms up, and studied them.

The thin white ice had spread, indeed—it was almost to his elbows now, making little cracking and crunching noises every time Finn moved his hands. Even as he stood there watching it, it crept up another inch on each arm, apparently intent on swallowing his forearms whole.

"Get off," he said, scrubbing his forearms. "Go. Shoo. No one likes you."

The ice seemed to react to him speaking, and spread all the way to his elbows. Thankfully Finn had a great deal of cold tolerance, or he might've lost the use of his hands by now. Still…even for an ice mage, losing fingers to frostbite could be a very real danger if he didn't warm his hands up at some point.

Stubbornly, he scrubbed harder, sending crystalline flakes of ice raining away from his arms; it re-grew as fast as he scrubbed, inching up past his elbows.

" _Finn,"_ Dorian chided, grabbing both of his shoulders and stopping his motions. "You're making it infinitely worse. Try and hold still, would you?"

Finn looked up at him, trying not to fidget, searching Dorian's grey eyes for answers. "You're a fancy Tevinter scholar and everything. What's  _going on?_ Is this just a reaction to being physically in the Beyond?"

"It could be." Dorian reached downward, about to take one of Finn's hands, but Finn jerked his hand away.

Dorian raised an eyebrow.

"What if it infects you too?" Finn said. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Ever the noble one," Dorian said in a teasing voice. "Hold out your hand, then, so I can have a look at it."

Finn obeyed, holding both hands out for Dorian to study.

"It's a reaction to being in the Fade, as we've previously noted," Dorian said, peering downwards at Finn's palms. "You're aware of the different realms in the Fade, yes? It isn't  _only_  a giant land of coexisting demons and spirits and whatnot. The more powerful demons have specific realms, you see. My guess? Whichever realm we landed in has something to do with the ice spreading on your skin."

"I'm guessing we aren't in the domain of the demon of happiness and pastries," Finn said.

Dorian snorted a quick laugh. "No, indeed. If I had to make a speculation…" He raked his eyes along Finn's forearms. "I believe only demons that are high up on the power hierarchy could command such a place. Sloth, Desire, Despair, Pride, Nightmare, the like."

"I'm going to take a stab at it and say this  _isn't_ Desire," Finn said, shrugging.

A sudden low, throaty laugh echoing around them made Finn startle, his hands involuntarily clenching into fists and fissuring some of the thin ice.  _You're getting warmer. But does your guessing do you any good?_ A pause.  _Or, shall I say, you're getting much, much colder…_

The ice suddenly climbed halfway up Finn's biceps with unexpected enthusiasm, and Finn snapped his teeth together. Dorian fixed his eyes on Finn with a concerned expression.

The voice belonged to a demon, Finn was fairly certain. And a dickish one at that.

_So confused, aren't you?_ the demon purred.  _You have no idea of who you are, inan'nislean. Why does the ice creep up your arms so? Does it hurt? No matter how much you flick your ears, elf, you won't find where I am._ A laugh, as the voice faded away.  _Until I come to you…_

"Fight me, then," Finn snarled, spinning in a slow circle to try—in vain—to locate the source of the voice. "Stop hiding away like a little  _bitch_."

But the demon was silent.

"I'm curious about what it called you," Dorian said. "You understood the word, yes?"

" _Inan'nislean,"_ Finn repeated, pronouncing it a little more slowly so Dorian could hear the syllables. "It means blue-eyes." He shrugged. "I'm not sure why the demon singled that out—lots of people have blue eyes."

"But not many are quite like yours." Dorian lifted a hand to caress Finn's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I don't think I've ever seen quite so pure a blue before. Not a hint of grey."

"Are you flirting with me?" Finn teased. "Don't you know I'm in a relationship?"

"Oh, I hear the man you're in a relationship with is  _extraordinarily_ handsome," Dorian said with a smirk twisting up the corner of his mouth. "But you've derailed the point, you silly elf. Perhaps there's something to your eyes that the demon knows? Something about your family?"

Finn shook his head. "Nothing of my family—that I know of. Most Dalish have green eyes, and my parents were no exception. Nani's are  _close_ to green. I mean, I don't look anything like my parents, but…" He thought for a moment, feeling a stale bit of wind stir his hair. "It can't be. It must've called me that at random."

"Not much is  _random_ in the Fade," Dorian pointed out.

Finn scuffed a foot against his pant leg, thinking. "I really don't have a good answer for that," he finally said.

Never mind that they were just standing here, talking, as Finn froze alive. In truth, he'd really only start worrying in a little while; it didn't seem like something to get a bee in his bonnet over. Not quite yet. Finn had built up enough ice resistance over the years to keep himself all right for now.

He thinned his lips, considering their circumstances, then twisted and thumped his forehead against Dorian's chest.

"Hello there," Dorian said; after a moment, his hands came up to comb through Finn's hair. He plopped a quick kiss on the top of Finn's head. "Something the matter?"

"No," Finn said. "Just thinking. I'm glad you're here with me."

"Surely you aren't glad we're  _here,"_ was Dorian's response, spoken in a sort of dubious tone.

"Why, yes," Finn joked, not lifting his head. "I actually thought, this morning, 'well fuck me sideways, I really wish we were taking a scenic tour of the Beyond right about now'. True story."

"Got your wish, didn't you?" Dorian said. "It's a shame you didn't have the forethought to wish for something other than an on-foot tour. My tired, mutilated feet have you to blame."

"I accept full responsibility," Finn said, finally pulling away and straightening up. "In any case, now that the demon has stopped talking at us for now, let's keep looking for the others; I'm sure they're close by. They can't—"

The ground rumbled beneath his feet, quaking enough to make Finn suddenly unsteady, and he spread-eagled his arms to keep himself upright. Then there was a long, deafening noise, an unmistakable one, something Finn hoped to gods he'd never hear again after what happened a year ago.

A bear's roar.

Finn's skin immediately broke into a cold sweat, the ringing in his ears shutting out all other noises. Up ahead, from around a bend in the gravelly path they'd been following, Finn caught sight of a hulking mass of grey-brown fur, paws making the ground quiver with each step.

The great bear's teeth dripped with saliva and deep red blood, and Finn staggered backwards, falling on his rear.

He felt Dorian squeezing his shoulder, probably urging him to get up, but he couldn't hear a damned thing. Blackness edged his vision. The ringing in his ears gave way to memories of noises he could never forget, teeth tearing, flesh shredding, arrows whistling, his own screaming…

There shouldn't have been great bears here.  _No._

The creature pounded ever closer on its big stumpy legs. Finn felt a surge of mana next to him as Dorian whipped his staff off his back and readied a spell.

His year-old scars throbbed on his stomach, over his right eye, pain lancing through them.

Was Dorian yelling for him to  _move?_ Finn couldn't hear…

_Face your fears, inan'nislean,_ came the demon's voice in his head, and Finn cupped his hands over his ears, panting, eyes fixed immovably on the approaching bear.  _You're only making me stronger…_

_* * *_

To Nanyehi's horror, she and Ellairia seemed to have stumbled into a graveyard.

It was nothing like the Dalish burial grounds she was used to, where they planted a tree over the remains so new life could spring from old. These were crumbling grey headstones sticking up from the ground, morbidly rigid. Nani's bare feet sunk into the moist, cold peat beneath her as she stepped lightly around the headstones, reading the inscription on the nearest one.

_River Hawke—lost everything she'd ever loved because of her own incompetence._

Nani's throat tightened oddly, and she cast a wide-eyed glance over to Ellie, who was bracing a hand on one of the headstones to keep herself from collapsing.

"I see them," Ellie said after a second, her voice raspy.

"Are these…predictions?" Nani mused aloud, taking a step to her left. "Or something in the Beyond trying to spook us?" Drawn to them with a sort of macabre curiosity, Nani read a couple more.

_Solas—died alone._

_Varric Tethras—became his parents._

_Finirial Ao_ _ë_ _thian—couldn't protect them all._

Her brows furrowed. That was her brother's name, at least half of it, and the description sounded like something he'd be terrified of…but Aoëthian? A Dalish clan name—from the sound of it—but not his. What was it doing on his hypothetical headstone?

Bizarre. Nani shook any resulting thoughts away.

She felt Ellie's eyes on her as she wordlessly stepped her way around the small graveyard, unable to tear her eyes away from the smooth-hewn inscriptions.

_Dorian Pavus—gave in to temptation._

_Cassandra Pentaghast—helpless in the end._

_Ellairia Surana—never loved._

"Maker," Ellie said softly from behind her; Nani turned her head slightly and saw the other elf reading over her shoulder. "I can't…that's… _cruel."_

Poor Ellie was looking even worse than she had when they'd first fallen into the Fade. Her eyes were so clouded that Nani could barely even see the chocolate brown of her irises, and her skin was nearly translucent white; there was visible sweat beaded on her forehead, and her hands hadn't stopped trembling since a few minutes ago.

But the last thing Nani noticed was that the healer's eyes were brimming over with tears.

"Hey," Nani said, straightening up and facing Ellie; she wasn't good at this comforting thing, but she needed to try. "Some demon is just trying to hurt you. It's not real."

Before Nani could reassure her further, Ellie sagged against her and gripped her arms in shaking hands; Nani hesitated a moment before tentatively rubbing the other elf's back, trying to sooth her.

As she did so, she stole a glance at a headstone in the back, one she'd just spotted her name on. It didn't take much effort to read the inscription on it.

_Nanyehi Lavellan—no one ever truly wanted you as Inquisitor._

Ouch. Nani sucked in a breath, wincing.

Did anyone, though? Given the choice, wouldn't the Inquisition prefer a nobleman or noblewoman as leader? Surely not her. Surely not a tightly-wound Dalish hunter with nearly infantine social skills and a propensity for pessimism.

She had been their last resort, hadn't she? Maybe some time ago she wouldn't have cared, but now…

Ellie pulled away from Nani and composed herself with what looked like a great deal of effort, squaring her slender shoulders. "My apologies," she finally forced out. "I'm not myself right now…"

"No, don't be sorry," Nani said. She stole one last glance at her own headstone, scowling, and stiffly led the way out of the graveyard. "We're giving this place too much of our time."

Ellie followed noiselessly after her.

Something—women's intuition, maybe, who knew—told her to take the leftmost path when it branched into a fork, and so she did, stepping gingerly over a mess of black rocks in her way. It still disconcerted her every time a willowy green bud sprang up from the dirt at her feet, but she tried to pay them no need; this realm in the Beyond was  _trying_ to freak her out. And it had already gotten to Ellie.

Her keen ears picked up a queer scuttling in front of her, and she held a hand out, stopping Ellie as well as herself.

"What is that?" Ellie wondered aloud, peering ahead of them.

Nani didn't have to answer; a moment later several wolf-sized creatures crawled rapidly towards them from the path ahead, their furried legs moving in almost a blur, their chelicerate fangs dripping with venom.

Spiders.

Twelve of them, if Nani was calculating right. She wasted no time yanking her bow off her back, nocking an arrow, and firing; it sank into the first spider with a disgusting squishy noise, and the creature curled up into itself and died.

"Stay behind me!" Nani ordered, firing another arrow. Two down. She held her ground, bracing her feet apart, and continued firing.

Three.

Four.

As many as she took down, more seemed to spawn from every nook and cranny in the oily rocks around them. Five, six, seven, eight; Nani's right hand was almost a blur, pulling arrows from the quiver at her back. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve; still more coming. Thirteen, fourteen—

Nani reached back for another arrow, and her fingers grasped nothing but air.

She'd come up empty, and there were still more of those damn spiders. "Shit!" Nani cursed, looking rapidly around her for something she could use as a weapon. The remaining spiders were crawling towards her and Ellie, their many black eyes gleaming in the sickly green light from above.

Ellie stepped to her side and thrust a hand forward, palm out.

The air around them  _pulsed,_ fluttered unsteadily, and the giant spiders made collective squeaking noises, their thin limbs curling against their bodies. A couple of them rolled over, exposing slick underbellies; Nani's brows furrowed.

Mind blast. She'd only seen the Keeper do it, once, but Ellie must've put a lot of power into that spell for it to break all those spiders' minds like it did.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Ellie gave a sort of tired groan and her knees buckled; Nani caught her just in time, struggling to hold her up.

Ellie grabbed both of her shoulders, breathing heavily. "I…need a minute," she wheezed. "Tired…Calling…"

"Easy," Nani urged. "You got them all…we—"

Carefully, slowly, the healer sank to her backside, sitting in the hard-packed dirt and letting her eyes close and her head droop forward.

_Little healer,_ came a voice echoing all around them, deep and full of malice. Nani's lips pulled away from her teeth in a feral snarl, and she looked up at the green sky, trying to find the voice's owner.  _Surely you know these breaths could be your last._

"Go away," Ellie said in a shuddering voice.

_You won't make it very far, little one,_ the voice continued.  _If only there was someone waiting on the other side for you to come out…but you're all alone…_

" _GO AWAY!"_ Ellie shrieked up at the sky, startling Nani with the sudden ferocity of her voice.

There was a long silence, broken only by Nani's and Ellie's breathing; the disembodied voice didn't come again.

"I'm sorry," Ellie said after a long minute. "I…don't think I can get up."

"I can wait," Nani insisted. She broke briefly away from Ellie and jogged around the path's slight clearing, gathering up as many arrows as she could find. Nasty work, pulling them from the spiders' skeletal bodies…but she couldn't go arrow-less. Not right now.

"No, you don't understand." Ellie's clouded gaze met hers. "Putting all that energy into an offensive spell must have weakened me too much. I  _can't stand."_

"Try," Nani insisted, running back over to her, her quiver replenished as much as possible.

She offered the healer her hands, and Ellie took them, trying to stand; her legs failed, crumpling, and she sank back to the dirt.

"I'm going to slow you down," Ellie eventually said after a moment of heavy breathing. "Please, Nanyehi…you have to go. You can make it out of here. But this Fade-induced Blight sickness is killing me. I won't make it."

" _Yes you will,"_ Nani said stubbornly.

"I—"

"Try again."

"Nanyehi, it's not possible!"

Nani blew out sharply through pursed lips, forcing herself to come to terms with that. Ellie wouldn't just lie down and give up out of fatigue; the mind blast spell must've drained the life right out of her. She considered this, weighed everything in her head, and made up her mind.

"No protesting," she said, slinging her bow and quiver to the ground with two successive thuds. "You're going to hold these for me, all right? Because I—" she knelt in front of Ellie, backwards, gripped her arms, and hauled her onto her back, "—am carrying you."

"I can't ask you to do that," Ellie said, although she weakly clamped her legs around Nani's waist and clung on to the bow and quiver when Nani scooped them off the ground.

"No one asked me," Nani said. "I'm not leaving you behind to get torn apart by a demon. We're going to find each other, and  _we're all making it out alive._ Understood?"

"No…arguments," Ellie whispered, resting her face in the curve of Nani's neck.

It was harder than Nani had thought, carrying ninety pounds of exhausted deadweight, but she grabbed the undersides of Ellie's thighs anyway and began walking, ignoring the straining of her leg muscles. Ellie's arms draped loosely around Nani's neck, and aside from her shallow breathing, it was almost impossible to tell she was still alive.

Nani clenched her jaw, her resolve strengthening. No matter what came…she  _couldn't_ fail.

 


	39. This Too Shall Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to regular posting! Thanks for your patience, and for your continued love and support. <3

There were a lot of things Finn wanted to do, at present. Flip off the demon—or its voice—with both hands? Certainly. Find where the voice was coming from and beat the everloving shit out of its owner? Absolutely. Say bad things about the demon's mother? Sure. Draw something dirty on its forehead after destroying it—why not?

Unfortunately, he was too preoccupied with his own panic attack to do much of anything.

He cradled his head in his ice-covered hands, straining to control the rabid breaths that tore in and out of his lungs. Every few seconds there was a brilliant flash of orange-red over his vision, and a wash of heat, but he barely saw or felt it.

_Don't you remember her teeth, inan'nislean?_ the demon's voice echoed about in his head, gutturally low and obviously proud of itself for rendering Finn senseless with a mere animal.  _Your innards, ripped to shreds…your scars are aching right now, aren't they?_

They were— _Creators,_ they were. Not just aching; that was too mild of a word. They felt like they were ripping apart at the seams all over again, his insides spilling out like they had only a year ago, claws and teeth tearing right into his guts…

Finn hissed in pain, his whole body as taut as the skin on a drum.

_She never forgot how you tasted, little elf,_ the demon continued, poking and prodding at Finn's sanity with just its voice alone.  _Do you really think your clanmates killed her? She's out there, waiting for you._

Finn jolted, imagining it. Gods, gods,  _gods…_ what if the bear was still roaming the forests, tracking him, hunting him, waiting for—

No.

No. The Keeper wouldn't have lied.  _Nani_ wouldn't have lied. None of his clanmates would have lied. That great bear was gone, and Finn would  _not_ be pushed into losing trust in his friends and family.

He snapped his teeth together, struggling, trying to come out of the panic attack. The noises around him, the  _real_ noises, grew louder. Roaring. Explosions and bursts of heat. The sharp whistle of a staff twisting through the air. Breathing.

Finn coaxed his eyes open, squinting, and forced himself to look up. There was that bear, that damned bear that shouldn't have been in the Beyond at all, rising up on her hind legs with a ground-shaking roar tearing out of her throat. A fireball burst into her massive form, sparks showering the ground, heat simmering in the sickly green air. The brilliant flash backlit a familiar figure in mage robes, and Finn realized the bear was rearing up to strike at Dorian and get him on the ground.

" _No!"_ The word tore out of him before he even realized it was on his tongue. He pushed to his feet and leapt forward before he even knew what he was doing, bolting past Dorian and ending up right beneath the great bear.

Dorian yelled something that sounded like "crazy bastard," but Finn ignored it, shoving his palms forward and hitting the bear with a solid wall of ice; it drove her backwards, the ground rumbling as she sank back onto four legs.

He didn't stop. Something within him had snapped at realizing Dorian was about to suffer the same fate that Finn had a year back. Crackling, bright-white ice burst from his staff as he walloped the beast with it, over and over again, grunting with the force he was putting into each swing.

The bear took a step back, then lifted its arm to swing at Finn; he threw a barrier over himself just in time, and the animal's claws swiped harmlessly over the filmy blue surface of the barrier.

"You're… _done,"_ he grunted,  _snarled_ at the thing, forcing it backwards with each wild burst of primal ice. He felt his barrier feeding from his mana, wrapping his body in an impenetrable layer. "You're  _done_ hurting me—" another blast of ice sent it skidding on its paws a few feet, making his barrier pulse with power, "—and you are bloody well  _not hurting Dorian!"_

" _Finn_ ," Dorian yelled behind him, "I appreciate the sentiment, I really do, but you're going to get yourself—"

Finn whipped his staff around in a rapid arc, and a loud  _boom_ nearly blew out his hearing.

The force of the explosion sent him staggering back on his feet, shielding his eyes from the sudden eruption of bluish white light. Biting cold washed over his skin, refreshing and invigorating, making every sensation come to life.

When he opened his eyes and dropped his hand, his jaw nearly disengaged from his skull.

He'd  _coated_ the path in front of him with ice. It shimmered white and crystalline on the ground and on the jagged surfaces of the rocks, blue-white ice spikes jutting out all over the sides of the path. His breath fogged in front of him. In the middle of the path, raised up on her hind legs like she was about to strike, frozen solid into a sculpture of pure ice, was the great bear.

"Sweet Maker, look at this." Dorian stepped up beside Finn, rubbing his hands rapidly together in an obvious attempt to warm them. "I've never seen an ice spell respond to someone with such _ferocity._ Fascinating." He stepped up to study the bear, his boots crunching on the fissured ice beneath him, looking up at its inanimate form.

It was just like at Adamant when he and Zevran had scouted its interior, Finn recalled. He braced his hands on his knees, struggling to contain the riotous thrumming of his heart. The barrier was still shimmering around him, watery and full of life and pastel blue.

He didn't even like  _looking_ at the frozen bear, now that his battle-rage was dying down. Bile threatened to rise in his throat. So he fixed his gaze on Dorian instead.

He was about to ask if something about being in the Beyond had strengthened his magic—Dorian would certainly know—but he stopped himself short. He'd been in Thedas when this happened at Adamant. Not to mention this demon's domain wouldn't be designed to strengthen him like this. Everything he'd done must have been lying dormant within him for who knew how long.

"Weird," Finn said, catching a breath.

" _Weird,_ you say, like you just misplaced your belt or something," Dorian said, looking over at Finn with a wry expression. "This is vastly beyond  _weird,_ Finn."

"No one ever accused me of having a way with words," Finn said.

"You do when you choose to." Dorian left the bear, approaching Finn, who straightened up. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Finn managed a smile and a breathy laugh.

"So you say." The fellow mage's expression was half amused and half concerned. "You could be lying on the ground with a leg missing and you'd still try to grin everyone's worry away."

Dorian knew him rather well, Finn mused. "I can still fight with one leg."

With a cynical twist of his mouth, Dorian shook his head a little. " _Festis bei umo canavarum,_ you silly, ridiculous elf."

"You've said that twice now." Finn moved to brush the film of ice off his biceps, but stopped himself; that would only irritate it and make it spread faster. "What does that mean, in tevene? 'You're a shithead'? 'You drive me nuts'? 'Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries'? Am I even close?"

"It means," Dorian said, brushing a wavy lock of Finn's hair behind his ear, "that you'll be the death of me."

Finn swallowed hard.

"Now that we're both fairly certain we aren't dead," Dorian continued, "let's press on, shall we? Our friends won't magically appear in front of us. Unless we're lucky, of course."

"That would be quite the stroke of luck, wouldn't it?" Finn cast a cursory glance around them, making sure they weren't being stalked by any more demons. "Let's go. I'm getting sick of this place."

He led the way through the slippery ice field of his own making, his legs steady beneath him, ice continually flaking off his arms.

For a few minutes, the demon's voice didn't bother them. Finn almost let himself slip into a sense of nonchalance; maybe it had moved on to bigger, better things. Surely he and Dorian were close to finding the others. Any minute now he could pick up a sign of them and track them down. Things had to be looking up…right?

_Ah, Master Pavus,_ came the demon's voice, and Finn scowled.  _I've been ignoring you, haven't I? Such poor manners on my part. For a moment, I even mistook you for your father._

"Rather uncalled for," Dorian said in a flat tone.

_Is it?_ said the demon.  _Magister Pavus was only trying to fix you._

Finn bristled, and he heard Dorian suck in a short, pained breath next to him.

_The way you look at inan'nislean would disgust your poor father, you know._ The demon's voice dripped with sadism.  _He gave you everything—elegance, decadence, the best education, anything you could ever want. And yet you fled everything he gave you. Every gift and privilege. Why waste yourself on—_

"Go fuck a rake," Finn spat upwards at the sky.

The demon's voice cut off, and Dorian snickered under his breath.

"Ah," he said, briefly leaning his head against Finn's, "it doesn't take much for you to remind me why I gave that all away."

Finn's face flushed a little. Dorian wasn't typically this…overtly emotional with his words. The demon had obviously gotten to him.

"But enough of that," Dorian said, breaking the spell. "Let's focus on our search, yes?"

Finn nodded, just once, agreeing to the second and not to the first, as the ice along his arms crept ever closer to his heart.

* * *

Nanyehi's legs strained, all over. Aching thighs, burning calves, clicking knee joints. She tightened her grip on Ellie's legs anyway, not wanting to drop the elven mage as she made her way along the dark, barely lit path through the Beyond.

"Someone…up ahead," Ellie rasped, tapping Nani's shoulder. "See?"

Nani focused her gaze, relying on the years of hunter's training she'd gone through.

She was surprised, almost, when it was just a woman standing on the path ahead of them. No shimmering spirit's aura, no grotesque demonic features, no shifting into an aggressive stance—just a woman, albeit dressed in ornate Chantry robes with a bright golden design all across the front.

"Divine," Ellie whispered. She sounded confused. "How…?"

Had this been Finn and not Ellie, Nani would've assumed he'd just been making a sarcastic comment about it being divine that they encounter someone strange who could easily be a demon in disguise. Ellie, though, didn't speak that way; it took Nani a moment to realize Ellie had named this figure as  _the Divine._

The woman, spirit, Divine Justinia, whatever she was, was staring at Nani with such an intense, expectant expression that Nani  _knew_ she was supposed to go over there.

It could have been a trap. Easily. And Nani couldn't sprint as well with Ellie on her back. Warily, she took a few careful steps over, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

The woman's face was weathered and wrinkled with years gone by, her eyes a piercing light grey. She never blinked or took her gaze away from Nani, which was almost a little creepy.

"I greet you, Warden Surana," the Divine said, her tone level, even, and unmistakably Orlesian. "And you, Inquisitor Lavellan."

Well, that knocked out the possibility of this being the actual Divine, trapped in the Fade like they were—Justinia would  _not_ have known Nanyehi was the Inquisitor.

"Most Holy," Ellie greeted from Nani's back, then exhaustedly dropped her face into the crook of Nani's neck.

"I see you are suspicious of me, Inquisitor," the Divine said calmly, her gaze never once wavering. "You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand in the Fade yourself." She glanced slowly back and forth between Nani and Ellie. "Yet proving my existence either way would require time we do not have. I am here to help you. That is all you must know."

What choice did Nani have, at this point? Hard as it was to admit, her wandering through the Beyond wasn't getting them anywhere, and she was risking Ellie's life with every hour she took. Spirit or demon, maybe the Divine could point them in the right direction.

But the Divine was speaking again. "You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor."

"No, I don't." Nani shifted uneasily on her aching feet. Her back was cramping from being partially stooped over. The real Divine wouldn't have known about her memory loss, either.

Tick, tick, tick. The clock was counting down on Ellie's life, here. Nani felt the sudden urge to just start running until she encountered something useful.

But maybe the Divine had something that really would help.

"Your memories were stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus," the Divine said. "It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work."

"False," Ellie breathed, lifting her head. "Truly? We won't—"

"Take heed, Warden Surana," the Divine said. "You are physically in Nightmare's lair. Your own Calling is not something to be brushed off lightly."

Ellie said nothing more.

"A  _powerful_ demon, then," Nani mused aloud. They were getting somewhere. "How did Corypheus gain control of it?"

"The Nightmare serves willingly, for Corypheus has brought much terror to this world," the Divine said. "He was one of the magisters who unleashed the First Blight upon the world, was he not? Every child's cry as the Archdemon circles, every dwarf's whimper in the Deep Roads…the Nightmare has fed well."

_And it's gorging itself now_ , Nani thought, clenching her teeth. Her own terror at losing Finn and the others in the infinite mess of the Beyond, Ellie's unease over her rapidly worsening Blight sickness…and who knew what the others were feeling, wherever they were.

"Nanyehi," Ellie said softly. "The demon Erimond was bringing through…I think that was…this one…"

"Shit," Nani cursed, before she could stop herself. That thing was  _massive._ How in the world could they hope to defeat something like that?

"Your memories are here, Inquisitor," the Divine said. "When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it." She raised a hand and pointed, the fabric of her sleeve slipping a little down her bony wrist. Nani followed with her eyes, spotting a flash of bright green sliding in between the oily black of the rocks around them.

It looked like a wisp, almost. Meandering about, seemingly aimless, a trail of gauzy greenish mist following behind it.

The Divine didn't give any more advice or instructions about the green wisp, so Nani took a step towards it. Might as well.

"Wait, Nanyehi," Ellie whispered. "Put me down…so you can move…"

Nani swallowed. What if the Divine was a demon in disguise? What if…

"I'd sense danger," Ellie insisted.

Right. She  _was_  a well-trained mage. Nani would trust her. She slowly, gently let Ellie slip off her back and sit cross-legged in the dirt near the Divine. Then, when Ellie handed her the bow and arrows, Nani slung them over her back and set off after the wisp.

It wasn't far off, but every time it sensed her coming too close, it shied away a few yards. Nani scowled and fired an arrow at it; the arrow shot right through the wisp's form, completely ineffectual, and the wisp tore off down the path.

Nani followed at a run, her left hand grabbing for an arrow; then she stopped, a throb of pain racing down her arm from her palm. And that reminded her. She held her palm forward instead, triggering the same sucking sensation that had nearly gotten Finn dragged into a rift in Crestwood.

The wisp resisted, but the force of her Anchor pulled it towards her. Its small form dissolved into the Anchor with a puff of green light, and suddenly Nani was elsewhere.

In mind, probably. It was as if the body she was in moved without her knowledge or consent; she found herself grasping the handle of a heavy door before she could even wonder where she was.

A memory. It had to be. Yet it felt…remote, distant, foreign.

There was a woman crying for help beyond the door, and she sounded like the Divine.

The door swung open, and she found herself stepping into a room. Immediately she saw the Divine suspended in the air, her arms spread wide beside her, shackled by thick coils of magic. And there, in front of her, holding the orb Nani hadn't forgotten…was Corypheus.

Rage twisted her insides.

"What's going on here?" she heard herself yell, as if through someone else's ears.

Corypheus regarded her with his permanent sneer, his long, skeletal fingers twitching where they held the orb. Then the Divine loosened one of her arms from the magical coils and gave the orb a resounding smack; it flew from Corypheus's grip, bouncing towards Nani with a metallic  _ting, ting, ting._ Without warning she found herself running for it, hand held low and outstretched—the orb rolled into her palm, and her body exploded with pain.

The memory ripped away from her eyes; Nani realized she was herself again, and both the Divine and Ellie were watching her expectantly.

A realization hit her.

"So this wasn't from Andraste like everyone's been saying," Nani said, sucking in a breath and rejoining them. "It was from the orb." And that was almost a relief, that a Dalish didn't have to carry the weight of prophesying for a human ideal.

Yet that focus orb was elven. Solas had said as much. How had Corypheus come across it?

The Divine's face was grim. "Corypheus intended to rip open the veil, use the Anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the Doors of the Black City. Not for the Old Gods, but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the Anchor upon you instead."

"Funny how things happen…" Ellie said, then coughed into her hands.

"You must make haste, Inquisitor," the Divine urged her. "The Nightmare knows you are here. You must recover the rest of yourself."

"Those wisps," Nani said, nodding.

The Divine nodded in response, an affirmation. "I will prepare the way ahead."

"Wait!" Nani cried. "I…there's one thing. Unrelated. Since I'm fairly certain you're a spirit, maybe you'll know this—why does my brother have a different last name than I do? Why did that gravestone say  _Aoëthian_  instead of  _Lavellan_? Do you think he…or the Nightmare—"

"If your brother knew, wouldn't he have told you?" the Divine said.

And then, in a blink, she was gone.

Nani grunted in frustration. All that answered was whether or not the name had any meaning for Finn; she'd been looking for its meaning, regardless of his knowledge. It bothered her, more than she'd admit, that his gravestone hadn't said  _Finirial Lavellan._ He was all the family she had. What if—

No. The Nightmare had just been toying with her. It had to be.

Nanyehi wouldn't let that thing get in her head. Couldn't. She had to be the strong one right now. So she helped Ellie onto her back once more, and took another step, her mind suddenly more sure of where she was supposed to go.


	40. In This Our Darkest Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments and kindness! You guys are the sweetest. :)

River was exhausted, haggard, pushed to the brink of near insanity and very ready to get out of this miserable place.

How long had it been since she'd felt Fenris's strong arms around her? It felt like twenty lifetimes, at the very least. If it wasn't for Cassandra holding her up and helping her walk, River might have broken down into a sobbing, sputtering mess and refused to move until she withered away. But there was Cassandra beside her, steady as pure iron, helping her hop on one good leg over the rocky, uneven mess of the hard-packed black dirt below.

Stroud was a clanking of armor and a thudding of boots at their backs, laconic once again. Following Hawke's torturous vision of a dying Fenris a while back, she'd all but screamed at Stroud for what the Wardens had done. Not that it was his fault—still, she hadn't exactly been in the best frame of mind.

There were _good_ Wardens, she had cried. Wardens like Palla Cousland, like Corvis Nalida, like Shesi Mahariel, like Ellairia Surana, like Alistair Theirin, like Stroud himself. Blackwall too, maybe, even though he'd been lollygagging around in the Hinterlands at the time and barely knew a thing about the uprising. Those who had allowed themselves to be branded traitors for withdrawing support from the Order and its decisions. The others? They'd blindly allowed themselves to be handed on a silver platter to Corypheus.

And _Clarel—_ River boiled from the inside out at the thought of her.

Never mind that she'd chased Erimond to the brink of the bridge. Never mind that she'd blown herself to pieces trying to save them from that lyrium-infested dragon. She'd fallen prey to the wiles of a magister and led her entire Order to ruin. Leaders had responsibilities. All those lives had been in her hands, and she'd just splayed her palms and let those lives slip through her fingers into utter oblivion.

But Stroud had eventually grown tired of arguing, and Cassandra had eventually grown too irritated to listen to them fire back and forth.

They'd stopped talking about an hour ago.

"Does it feel like we're going in circles?" River asked finally, sick of the silence. "Because it feels like we're going in circles. Or ovals. Or a rhombus. Whatever you feel like."

"I'd prefer it if it were none of those," Cassandra said acerbically.

Yes, River supposed that was so. A line was really the only preferable thing, in this instance.

Something brushed past her arm, something thin and filmy, like a fine silk. River startled, watching a bright green wisp bob harmlessly past her, meandering through the air in front of them.

"Oh my gods," said a woman's voice behind them, breathy with a sort of surprise. "It _led us_ to you. And you're all _alive._ Except…"

Cassandra helped River turn, and Stroud turned as well; the three of them looked, _stared._

River thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, at first. Or maybe the Fade was. Why else would Nanyehi be standing behind them, her pale skin still streaked with the dirt and blood from the battle at Adamant, carrying Warden Surana's seemingly lifeless form on her back?

"Nanyehi," Cassandra breathed, her voice full of unbridled relief. "Is it truly…? Thank the Maker you're alive!"

"Is Ellie…?" River started, unable to finish the sentence out loud. _Is Ellie dead?_

"I'm still here," the elven healer said, lifting her head tiredly from Nanyehi's shoulder. Sweat had glued some strands of silken blonde hair to her forehead and cheeks, and her eyes were clouded by a thick film of white, their features barely distinguishable. She looked like Ser Wesley had so many years ago, when they'd been fleeing Lothering, and River realized Ellie was afflicted with the same thing he'd had.

"So two of us are harmed," Nanyehi noted aloud, her eyes flickering briefly to the leg River couldn't put weight on. "Shit. Hawke, your bow—"

"—Is perfectly functional," River answered her. "I can sit and shoot. Don't worry about me during a fight."

That seemed to settle Nanyehi a little bit. The elf was obviously tired under Ellie's weight, however, and she breathed out a bit of a rough breath as she regarded River, Cassandra, and Stroud.

"I've been trying to catch that wisp," she explained. "It's the last one—it's part of the memory the Nightmare stole from me. If I can recover all of myself, supposedly, I can find us a way out of here."

Saying nothing more, she stooped and let Ellie off her back. Both of them looked exhausted for entirely different reasons. River would've offered to carry Ellie herself, in a heartbeat, if she hadn't broken her shin when they'd fallen into the Fade…but Stroud was already there, stoically ditching his shield in the dirt for a moment to help Ellie onto his back.

"Are you truly all right, Nanyehi?" Cassandra asked, her deep brown eyes fixed on the little elven Inquisitor. Maker's panties, the Seeker actually looked concerned.

"I'm fine," Nanyehi said, looking past them, probably to make sure the wisp was still in sight. She looked fidgety. "Have any of you seen Finn and Dorian?"

"We thought they were with _you_ ," River said.

Not a good thing for group morale, losing those two, aside from the obvious horror of losing good friends in the Fade. Finn was their only enthusiastic optimist, and Dorian their best distributor of eternal sarcasm; River had been making attempts at filling those two voids, but she'd only worn down Cassandra's and Stroud's nerves.

Nanyehi's face fell and her shoulders slumped. If she'd been hoping Finn and Dorian were just around a bend tying laces on Dorian's boots or something, she didn't say as much. She just sucked in a breath and took off after the wisp, which immediately fled from her at a rather half-arsed pace.

River watched curiously from a distance as Nanyehi held her palm out and sucked the wisp back towards her, right into the scar on her palm; then she hunched over, clapping her hands over her ears and squinting her eyes shut.

Cassandra moved forward.

"Don't," Ellie said softly, lifting her face from Stroud's shoulder. "She's in a memory."

It was an odd thing, watching someone else experience a vision that only they were allowed to see. Nanyehi twitched every couple seconds, like people did when they were _dreaming_ of running but their sleeping bodies couldn't actually move.

After what felt like several hours but was probably only several minutes, Nanyehi lifted her head, her shoulders tense and squared.

"We've all been wrong," she said, turning to look at them, a sort of bleak acceptance in her eyes. "The woman they saw behind me in the Fade, when I fell out? It was—"

"Me."

Someone had appeared a few paces from Nanyehi—a spectre, a spirit, _something_ —and she looked _exactly_ like Divine Justinia. Little filaments of golden light danced around her robed form like holiday tinsel. It had been her voice, too, that spoke, and the expression she fixed on Nanyehi was one of mournful solemnity.

Stroud's boots kicked up a bit of gravel as he took a rapid, surprised step backwards. River herself felt a shockwave of bewilderment make its electric way up her spine. Even _Cassandra_ gasped.

But Nanyehi didn't look surprised in the slightest.

"Most Holy?" Cassandra said. "You are—"

"—dead," Nanyehi answered, heaving a tired sigh. "She slipped out of my grasp when we were trying to leave the Fade. I remember now. You…" She turned to face the spiritual embodiment of Divine Justinia. "She…"

"So she is just a spirit," Stroud said, stepping forward and adjusting his hold on Ellie's thighs so she didn't slip.

"I am sorry if I disappoint you, Warden," the spirit said.

Cassandra, when River looked over, appeared just about ready to break down. It must have been horrible, seeing the embodiment of the woman she'd tried so hard to protect; River ached with sympathy. She squeezed Cassandra with the arm around the warmaiden's shoulders, and to her surprise, Cassandra squeezed tightly in return.

Brilliant golden light erupted from within the spirit until it consumed her, morphing her into a luminous, gilt vision of herself, just a shape. She ascended a few feet above them, arms loosely outspread, aurous sparks showering around her outline.

"Did you take her form to help us?" Nanyehi asked, looking up. "Or are you actually her spirit?"

"Whatever story you wish to tell is a good one, Inquisitor," the spirit said.

River blinked. Swallowed. Took a breath. "Either way you shake it, the mortal Divine is dead."

Nanyehi opened her mouth, like she was about to say something, but seemed to change her mind at the last second.

"You must make haste, Inquisitor," the spirit said. "You have recovered your last stolen memory and found all of yourself. It will not be long before the Nightmare finds you."

Hadn't the Nightmare already found them, if it had been taunting them with words and sounds and visions? Unless…unless she meant it would soon find them _physically._

Andraste's tits, there was no way any of them could hope to fight such a powerful beast. River felt the hope inside of her dwindling, like a flame trapped under a glass jar, left to suffocate and sputter and die.

_Silly little creatures, scurrying around my domain like ants,_ came the voice that had tormented River about Fenris and her family. From the looks on Nanyehi's and Ellie's faces, they were also—sadly—familiar with the voice. _Did you think you could hide forever?_

The golden spirit's form warped briefly, like it was in discomfort.

_Do you truly hope to face me?_ said the voice. River heard the sounds of scurrying feet all around her, and she looked about, spotting hundreds of clustered black eyes glimmering in the dark. Spiders. Big ones, scuttling out of crevices and dropping from the sky. _I am every fear come to life. I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself. The demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound all through me!_

"So if we banish you, we banish the demons?" the gilt spirit asked, unceasing in its hovering above the group. "Thank you, 'every fear come to life'."

The demon let loose an enraged grunt, but its voice faded away just as the mass of spiders surrounded them.

River and Nanyehi both readied their bows simultaneously, although Nanyehi was quicker to shoot, piercing a spider through its abdomen. Cassandra took up her sword and shield and began hacking and slashing at the things; River fired her own arrow, miraculously getting a spider in the head. She was forced to balance on one leg as she fought with the other toe just barely brushing the ground for support; she just hoped nothing knocked her over. She heard Stroud mutter an apology to Ellie as he let her off in the dirt, then lifted his own shield off the ground and joined Cassandra.

To Ellie's credit, she was actually trying to cast a spell, sick as she was. She had her hands cupped together, and her eyes squinted shut, sweat visibly beading on her forehead. Yet when Nanyehi took a quick look over, the Inquisitor made a sharp hissing noise through her teeth.

"Don't you _dare,_ Ellie," Nanyehi snapped, turning her back and firing another arrow. River shot a spider off a rock face at the same time. "The effort will kill you—" another spider fell to Nanyehi's arrows, "—and we're all coming out of here alive!"

Ellie's voice was nearly drowned out by the clanging and whooshing of the two warrior's swords. "What if—"

" _That's an order!"_

The dying healer backed off, un-cupping her hands and opening her eyes with a beaten-down look in their chocolate brown depths.

River just hoped they could withstand the onslaught. The spiders kept coming, a rapid plague of disgusting pestilence. The _tap, tap, tap_ of their many furried feet on the ground nearly made River vomit, but she kept firing her bow, forcing bile back down her throat.

Did it _have_ to be spiders?

She was just about to reach for another arrow when an ice bolt ripped past her from behind, shredding the spider she'd been aiming for. Several more bolts followed it, their frigid trails giving River goosebumps as they embedded into several more spiders and blasted the creatures apart. Then a wave of chain lightning jumped through the crowd of spiders with a violent burst of purple-white light and a deafening cracking noise, and River briefly squinted her eyes to compensate.

" _Finn!"_ she heard Nanyehi cry when the light faded, exposing all of the dead, belly-up spiders and pieces of them that the magic had decimated. "Dorian! Creators, you're alive!"

River turned to look behind her as well, her eyes widening. She hadn't misheard; there was Finn, white ice steaming off the end of his staff as he gripped it in his right hand, and Dorian just a foot away, sparks dying out on his hands.

But why was Finn covered in ice?

She's seen Merrill use a form of rock armor before, and she briefly wondered if this was similar, but decided it wasn't the case. The ice seemed to be parasitizing Finn's body from his limbs out, coating his arms and legs. Filaments of ice stretched just past his shoulders, aiming obviously for his heart, and the ice on his legs was just creeping up past his knees.

Still, he had that same catchy grin on his face, ice infection or no.

Nanyehi barreled towards him, and before he could stop her, she'd leapt into his arms. He seemed wary for a second, then hugged her tightly in return. Whether or not she minded the cold, she didn't say.

"I thought you were _dead,_ " she said, her voice wavering in pitch as she finally pulled back.

"Why would you think that?" he asked. "We're clearly in _paradise,_ Nani. I even saw a hot spring a few miles back. And did you see that nice rock formation? Not to mention there aren't any other tourists here."

"That could be changed in no time, I'm certain," Dorian quipped. "Just put up signs in opportune places. _Come, see the wonders of the Fade! Escape the drab monotony of your sad little radish farm in Redcliffe!"_

"It's foolproof, Dorian," Finn said. "We're in for a fortune."

" _Gods_ , I missed you two," Nanyehi said, giving Dorian an equally tight hug; he chuckled and returned it, shooting Finn a knowing look.

"There's something you should be aware of, Nanyehi," Dorian said when she pulled away from him. "And Finn's going to wrinkle his nose at me in just a second, but I'm going to say it anyway. The ice on him? I haven't been able to study it as thoroughly as I'd like to, but I believe that if it gets under his skin and reaches his heart, it'll kill him."

Finn did, indeed, scrunch up his nose. "Ye of little faith."

"Are you _certain_ it'll reach his heart at all?" Nanyehi said.

"I'm just hoping it doesn't go too much farther up my legs," Finn said, obviously brushing off any resulting concern. " _That_ won't be my idea of a good time."

"No one wants that, Finn," Dorian said. He returned his attention to Nanyehi. "I think it's a possibility, in a few hours. I've been mentally tracking the rate it's been spreading."

"I think Ellie's got about as much time left," Nanyehi said. "Shit."

River noticed Finn and Dorian both cast a glance to the Warden healer, who was currently getting helped onto Stroud's back yet again.

The spirit's glowing golden figure descended back into view once more, and both Finn and Dorian looked curiously up at her. "I will lead the way, Inquisitor," the spirit said. It was impossible to truly _know,_ really, but her gaze seemed to shift briefly to Ellie and then Finn. "You've no time to waste."

"Let us find this monster and stop this madness," Stroud said, voice full of conviction.

"And get the hell out of this place," River said.

Nanyehi nodded. "I'm not looking forward to facing that thing, but…we've got no choice, do we?"

* * *

If Finn _really_ stopped and considered it, really accepted it, he knew he was close to dying.

Again.

He could already feel thin tendrils of ice start to burrow into his skin, creeping around his sternum. It felt like being stung by a hundred invisible bees, all at once, and he had to keep clenching his teeth to avoid showing any pain. Everyone was already desperate and terrified enough—they didn't need his problems heaped on top of that. Especially Ellie, who was sagging like a limp rag doll on Stroud's back, her shallow breathing nearly inaudible.

It had been a few hours since that point where Dorian had given him an estimate of a few hours to live, Finn thought wryly. Once the chill of raw ice curled around his heart, Finn knew it would stop.

Was this just a trick of the Nightmare's, trying to force him into panic? Finn didn't know; that great bear hadn't felt like a trick, either.

Anything could happen when you were physically in the Beyond. _Anything._

Nani had scouted ahead of them the whole time, tracking the golden spirit of the Divine, making sure the path ahead was clear before they traveled it. She'd remarked only once, when asked her reasoning for sneaking, that she thought another big fight might take Finn and Ellie down.

"Don't worry, Finn," Dorian had said with forced lightheartedness about half an hour ago, "we won't let you kick any metaphorical buckets. We'd miss you, you know? The world would be so _empty_ without that adorable accent of yours. And all the _cursing._ "

"We?" Finn had asked, his chest tightening.

"Fine, fine, if you're going to insist on it," Dorian had relented. " _I_ would."

And Dorian had briefly braved the ice just to give Finn's hand a quick squeeze.

"The creature is using the rift you saw in the courtyard, Inquisitor," the spirit was saying now, hovering ahead of Nani as she led them through a silty black pond dotted with small, wet sand dunes. Finn stepped over a gnarled black weed, not wanting to crush a plant even though the sentiment was silly here in the Beyond. "Slam the rift closed with all your strength. That will banish the army of demons…and exile this cursed creature to the farthest reaches of the Fade."

Sure, slamming a rift shut sounded easy enough; what about getting past the creature that had been tormenting them all for what felt like years in here? Didn't sound like a skip through a tulip farm.

This section of the Fade was a wide, yawning cavern, the rock above them a muddy taupe rather than the usual oily black. Finn had to step around little streams of dirty water pouring from the rock ceiling, and ahead of him, he watched Nani briefly take cover behind a wide stalagmite before motioning them all forward. Finn could see the green glow of sky in front of them, so he knew the cavern's exit was close. Still, Nani didn't look too eager to proceed, and she held her palm forward to stop them all once they closed ranks around her.

"That's the rift," she whispered, almost a hiss. "The one the Wardens opened up in the courtyard. They were trying to pull the Nightmare through, remember? Now it's just…"

"Just what, Nanyehi?" Cassandra asked.

"Just sitting there…" Nani said. The color drained from her face.

Finn edged past her to look, and had to quickly swallow a lump of pure dread.

At first he didn't see it, thinking mistakenly that it was some kind of ugly rock formation. Then it moved, shifted its massive form, and Finn paled as well. It looked sort of like a spider, if he had to pick an animal likeness, save that the thing had beady, roving eyes all over its greasy brown body. Not to mention it was the size of a fucking _building._ You could probably house a hundred Qunari in that thing.

_Ugh_. The sight alone was bad enough, but the _smell,_ the pervasive odors of decaying flesh and gore and…bear hide?

Now it was just being a dick.

"It smells like…darkspawn…" Ellie coughed, weakly lifting her head from Stroud's shoulder. "Maker, look at that thing…"

No one else offered up what it smelled like to them, but from the disgust on their faces, it had picked something equally awful for all of them.

"See that?" Dorian's arm brushed against Finn's shoulder as he took a step forward and pointed, his voice hushed. "That creature at the front of it that looks rather like a typical Fear demon? That's an Aspect of it. A powerful one, I'd wager. It might be a better course of action to target that, don't you think?"

"Why's that?" Nani whispered back.

"Do we really want to face the big one?" Dorian reminded her. "Killing an Aspect of it will weaken it enough for us to get through the rift. And then you wiggle your fingers and close it— _boom,_ banishment, blah blah blah—and we're home free. Better than taking the Nightmare head-on, yes?"

"Good enough for me," Nani said, her tone bleak.

Either the creature hadn't noticed them yet—unlikely—or it was just waiting contentedly for them to scurry their little way down the stairs and face it. Finn thought back on his earlier wish of drawing something lewd on it, and realized he didn't even have a pen with him. Balls.

Nani turned to face them all.

"I hate doing this," she said. Her shoulders fell. "But I have to." She looked at each of them in turn, equally long, her eyes almost watery. "I don't think we're all going to make it through this fight, and I can't lose any of you without saying goodbye."

"Nobody's dead yet," Finn reminded her. "Turn that frown upside down?"

"Not now, Finn." A muscle jumped in Nani's jaw as she tightened it. "No matter what comes, everyone, I'm going to try my absolute best to get us all out of here alive. But there's a chance—" She broke off, fixing her eyes on Finn. "That ice is about to kill you. Any chance you'll sit this one out?"

Finn shook his head and chuckled lightly. "You know that's not possible, Nani. I'm going to pull my weight until I can't anymore."

Until he keeled over and his heart stopped. She knew that, as well as he did.

"Ellie—" Nani tried.

Ellie shook her head, and slowly wriggled off Stroud's back until she was standing on her own two feet. She looked unsteady, about to collapse, and her grip on Stroud's arm was white-knuckled. "It's a healer's job to protect the group, Inquisitor."

Nani looked at River next, but the Champion gave her a firm look that said ' _I'll hop around on one foot if I have to.'_ Cassandra, Stroud, and Dorian looked equally stubborn as well. Nani heaved the heaviest sigh Finn had ever heard. "I don't know what I did to deserve you all…and I'd say I'm glad to have you all at my side, but I wish you hadn't been put through this."

"We are at your side, Nanyehi," Cassandra reassured her. "No matter what comes."

Everyone looked about as ready as they'd ever be, to varying degrees.

"I guess we should start talking strategy, then," Nani said, almost reluctantly. "We can't just throw ourselves at this thing and hope we don't die." She cast Finn a brief look, like ' _I know that's your usual plan.'_ "And we've got two wounded. Let's see…River, I want you sticking with Dorian. Both of you need to stay behind cover as much as possible and try not to draw attention to yourselves."

"I'll take care of him," River joked. Dorian rolled his eyes.

"Ellie," Nani said, "you're sticking with me. _No spellcasting unless absolutely necessary._ Is that understood?"

Ellie didn't look thrilled about the restrictions, but she nodded just once.

Nani looked at Cassandra next, then Stroud. "I hate to do this…but I need you two getting the Aspect's attention on your shields. _Please_ take care of yourselves."

"At your order, Inquisitor," Stroud said.

"Quit leaving me out of plans, Nani," Finn said.

Nani's expression was the most downtrodden when she finally looked at Finn. "The strategist in me wants you out in the open hitting the bastard with everything you've got and letting your barrier absorb attacks…and the sister in me wants you hiding behind a rock."

"It's the strategist that could get us out of here," Finn said. His breath shortened briefly when the ice made another lurch against his ribs, but he didn't share any pain with Nani.

Nani's lip briefly curled in a sort of distaste; Finn could tell she was thinking a whole string of nasty thoughts about the Nightmare at the moment. But nasty thoughts—funny though they were—wouldn't get them through this fight alive.

He briefly considered the obvious, most wimpy solution—sprinting past the Nightmare like chickens and flinging themselves through the rift—but what would stop either the Nightmare or its Aspect from cutting them down while their backs were to it? No. The demon needed to be weakened and banished, no matter what toll it took on them.

"Forgive me for bringing up something unsavory," Dorian said, his grey eyes on the demon ahead of them, "but what's to stop the creature from dividing us up and tormenting us privately as it did before? I can't imagine it will just sit there and patiently let us tear it to little bits."

He was right. Fuck a bucket, he was right. Finn cursed colorfully in elvish under his breath.

"It has to be…weakened," Ellie said, nodding her agreement.

The spirit of Divine Justinia hovered in front of them, a gilt beacon of light among the dark.

"The rest is up to you, Inquisitor," said the spirit. "But there is one thing I can do for you."

Finn cast his eyes up at the ethereal form as it swiveled in the air and left them, a misty shower of dancing golden lights following its path as it approached the Nightmare. The Aspect turned to face it and held its wicked, clawed hands out in a sort of macabre welcoming gesture, its jaw opening into a sadistic grin.

Nani took a couple of rushed steps down the stairs that led into the small basin where the Nightmare was, her feet never faltering even though her eyes were obviously fixed on the spirit.

"Tell Leliana…I am sorry," said the spirit.

Then, with a blinding burst of light, it erupted into the Nightmare's form, swallowing the entire demon in a sea of white-gold. Finn had to shield his eyes with a hand; as the light died away, he saw the thing's many legs wobble and shake, bringing it down to its underbelly with a monstrous crash.

The Aspect shrieked.

No more dilly-dallying. The spirit had just weakened the Nightmare enough to buy them some time, and they'd be fools if they cast away the opportunity, exhausted and drained though they all may be.

Finn whipped his staff off his back and all but leapt down the steps.


	41. One For All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a little while since I posted, so I'm doing a double update! There'll be another chapter right after this. :)

Nani obviously couldn't see inside the Aspect's head, but she could tell the creature was _pissed._

The golden spirit hadn't done enough damage the weaken the Nightmare permanently, to allow its banishment, but it had crippled the thing for what would hopefully be long enough to take the Aspect down. Which would in turn…weaken the Nightmare enough? Permanently? Nani wasn't a mage, wasn't familiar with the Beyond, and wasn't entirely certain how the convoluted circle worked.

No matter. Stick some arrows in it and be done. Dorian knew what he was talking about, so she'd trust his knowledge without question.

The creature was already leaping for Finn, claws outstretched, and Nani's heart leapt into her throat. But an aqua-colored barrier shimmered around his form just seconds before the claws made contact, and she was able to breathe a little easier.

She kept an arrow aimed at the creature, but with Finn right up in its face and Cassandra and Stroud approaching, getting a shot through a small gap wouldn't be an easy feat. And wasting an arrow could mean big consequences. Somewhere in the side of her vision she could see a fireball raining onto the Aspect, from wherever Dorian had gone to.

Keeping the arrow trained on the Aspect allowed her to keep an eye on Finn, as well, and Nani made a low whistle. Madame Vivienne's training had done him wonders. Even infected by crippling ice as he was, he was fighting like a rabid _animal,_ blows glancing off his barrier, staff and ice swinging haphazardly all around his body.

 _Stop casting ice,_ she wanted to scream at him. _Stop casting at all. Go back in that cave and hide so you won't be killed._

But asking Finn to stop trying to protect everyone was like asking the sun not to rise in the morning. He'd been taking care of her ever since she was little, always taking blows for her, always brushing it off with a grin.

And how many times had she brushed this off without a thought? Acted like it was an _obligation_ of his, to protect his little sister? Even resented his constant presence?

Nani's throat tightened nearly to the point of choking, and she forced her eyes on the Aspect alone, her bow wavering in her hands. She would _not_ let Finn die here.

Suddenly, she was starting to understand his overprotective complex.

She took a breath and held it, steadied herself, and fired. Her arrow ripped through a gap between Cassandra and Finn, sinking into the Aspect's bony ribcage.

Its head snapped up, finding her, but Stroud's shield smashed into it, getting its attention back to the ground near it. Dorian and River fired a lightning bolt and an arrow one after the other, and the force of both sent the Aspect rocking back on one foot.

It drew an arm back and smacked Cassandra's shield with such a loud bang that Nani's ears rang. The Seeker staggered backwards and had to take a few seconds to recover; by that team, the demon was already swinging at Stroud.

"Careful," Ellie said, from a couple feet away; she was so quiet that Nani had almost forgotten she was there. "More of those spider things coming our way."

 _Enough with the spiders,_ Nani wanted to scream. They'd already outworn their nonexistent welcome, and the sight of that many spiders scurrying towards them—each as big as a wolf—was enough to make her throat squeeze tight and bile rise up from her stomach. She was reminded instantaneously of that time when she was six, when she'd screamed bloody murder about a spider crawling down her tunic and Finn had to drag her to the river so she could flail around in it for a solid half hour.

And that was what the demon was trying to do, wasn't it? Bring up bad memories. Make them lose focus. Make them fall, one by one.

She grit her teeth and fired. The arrow sank into the side of the Aspect's head with a hard _thwack._

A shot like that should've killed anything, even a demon. Headshots were supposed to be _fatal._ But this horrible thing just cast a teeth-baring, wicked snarl in her direction and yowled, not ceasing its attacks. It seemed to be focused on wearing down Stroud, who was doing his best to block each of its rapid attacks.

A moment later she realized why Finn's flashy ice attacks weren't doing as much as they should've—the Aspect was continuously casting a barrier over itself, barely visible, and there was only a tiny window to attack in.

"Bastard," she hissed under her breath, Dorian's orange-red fireball obscuring her view of it for just a moment.

The spiders closed in around them; Nani signaled to River and Dorian and yelled "Get the spiders off us! We'll keep hitting the Aspect!"

River's arrow whistling into a spider approaching Nani was their answer; chain lightning ripped through the mass of them, making Nani's ears ring with the explosive crackling noise.

When the fire and ash faded from the air and Nani could see the Aspect again, she was just in time to see it smash a blow into Stroud and send him flying, shield and all.

"No!" she yelled, readying another arrow.

Stroud tumbled in a clanking, metallic blur for what seemed like a mile but was probably only twenty paces or so, his shield finally separating from his arm and clattering to the dirt beside him. Ellie sucked in a breath and moved up to Nani's side. The Aspect turned to swing at Cassandra, apparently content with the fact that Stroud wasn't getting up.

Stroud _wasn't getting up._

"Bloody— _aaagh!"_ Nani's exclamation turned into a furious shriek, making her bow wobble in her hands and throw her aim off. She could almost _hear_ Ellie thinking of how to get down there, trying to find a way onto the battlefield to reach Stroud and heal him, but that would place her precariously in the Aspect's range.

Before Nani could shout any commands, Ellie had already lifted her hands high above her head and readied a spell, a shimmery globe of gold swirling between her palms and curled fingers. The golden energy engulfed Stroud, illuminating his fallen form in an almost blinding aura until he was planting a hand down on the ground and getting to his feet.

Just as one Warden rose, the other fell.

Ellie's legs buckled beneath her and she pitched forward; Nani scrambled to catch her, dropping her bow and arrow in the process. But the force of Ellie's fall sent them both tumbling in a heap down the stairs, each stone step jarring every one of Nani's bones.

She grunted and winced as they crashed to a stop at the base of the stairs, lying in the hard-packed dirt, Ellie sprawled across Nani with her head slumped on Nani's breastbone.

Nani wasn't even certain she could feel Ellie breathing; fearing the worst, she rolled them over and got to her knees. Ellie didn't move from where she lay on her back, light blonde hair a tangle, dirt and ash staining her whitened skin, a map of blue veins all over her body.

"Ellie, _no,"_ Nani croaked. How was this fair, trading one life for another? Why couldn't she keep both? Sucking in a breath, Nani reached for the pulse point under Ellie's jaw…

A noise made her hesitate and turn around, and the Aspect thrust its claws at her throat.

***

Finn didn't get to Nani in time before the Aspect curled its spiny hand around her neck and lifted her clear off her feet. He could hear her ragged, choking breaths as she clutched at its wrist, see her trying unsuccessfully to swing her legs up so she could hook them around its arm.

Blasted thing had faded into nothingness right before Finn's eyes and materialized right behind Nani just as she was about to check if Ellie was still alive. The healer's chances didn't look good, but Finn didn't want to risk Nani's life to check her pulse. He gripped his staff tighter and ran.

Cassandra reached the demon first. Her blade cut a silvery arc through the Aspect's elbow joint, and Nani tumbled to her rear, angrily flinging away the still writhing hand from her throat. Luckily the thing only had two actual arms; he didn't think the weird spider's legs jutting from its back really counted. It shrieked, blackish blood spurting from the severed joint.

Its barrier was down, he could tell that much. A sharp, precise bolt of lightning struck it from the side, energy sizzling and jumping on its form. It countered a shield bash from Stroud, but just barely; it was weakening.

Someone needed to immobilize it so the warriors could flank it properly. Finn thrust his hands forward, reached deep down into his almost depleted mana pool, and froze its bottom half to the ground.

 _There._ Cassandra got a solid cut in, and Stroud was keeping its attention fairly well. Finn sucked in a breath to try and replenish some mana as Nani bolted up the stairs to grab her fallen bow.

His whole body felt _cold._ And not the way it usually did—he was well used to the feeling of raw ice circulating through him. This felt like the chill of death, reaching claws straight for his heart. He coughed and staggered on his feet, mentally willing himself to keep his legs moving even though they felt like they were weighted down with iron shackles.

He managed another ice spell, a crystalline sheet of white springing up around the Aspect's form, and then his heart brought him down.

Somehow he knew the ice was only a breath away from his heart, its cold fingers embedded deep in his chest, working their way through flesh and bone. There was a spasmodic flutter in his chest, a heartbeat gone wrong, and he crashed to his knees.

He'd pushed himself to the edge, hadn't he? Maybe if he hadn't joined the fight, he'd have bought himself more time.

Maybe if he hadn't joined the fight, someone would have died.

Warden Surana already _looked_ dead, as dead as Finn felt like he was about to be. He gritted his teeth hard, hard enough to grind them together, and braced a hand on the pebbly ground beneath him.

_Get up. Cast again. You're stronger than this._

His heart sputtered, crashing against his ribcage, edging his vision in black. Finn's arm wobbled where he'd braced it.

Cassandra and Stroud had the Aspect flanked.

His heart sputtered again.

Silver flashes of swords, swinging in silver arcs. Black blood dripping, the smell of iron.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

A green glow. Nani's hand? She was killing the Aspect, tearing it to shreds with her mark.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

It was disintegrating, exposed without the protection of its barrier.

Shrieking, so shrill the noises nearly burst Finn's eardrums. He squinted, panting, trying to get to his feet.

Green and black mist. Gone.

_Thump-thump._

Dorian and River emerged from the darkness of crevices around them, joining the group. Nani said something, bent, pulled Ellie's fallen form onto her back and staggered.

Finn sank to his side, gravel and grit digging into his skin through rips in his armor. He shivered. The ice infection had him impaled by the chest, talons a hair's breadth from his struggling heart.

Dorian was right, that his heart would stop if the ice touched it. Dorian was always right.

_Get up. GET UP. You can't crap out now!_

Stroud was pointing away from Finn, everyone turning their heads to look. Finn squinted harder, trying to focus his vision.

The giant spider thing, the Nightmare, getting up on unsteady legs. About to go in for the kill. Only seconds left to close the Rift and banish the thing while it was still weak enough.

_Thump-thump._

Everyone looking around. Yelling. Stroud and River arguing, both taking steps _towards_ the Nightmare. Nani flashing a hand forward and grabbing their wrists, both of them. Stroud shaking his head, pulling away, backing away. Bowing once.

Stroud _ran towards the demon._

Finn hissed a breath, rolling onto his stomach. No. No one was allowed to die here. They had to make it out alive, all of them, because Finn _willed it_ with every fiber of his being.

But they were letting Stroud go.

_Thump-thump._

Finn's eyes fluttered shut. Cold air washed over him.

They were letting Stroud sacrifice himself, and they were leaving Finn behind. At least, that was what it seemed; Finn tried to drag himself forward a bit, even with his eyes shut, but couldn't muster the strength.

_I. Am. Not. Weak._

His heart crashed around in his chest.

Then hands rolled him to his back and arms scooped under him, lifting him, gathering upwards like a sleeping child being carried off to bed. He smelled fresh smoke just after a fire, felt warmth and strong muscle.

Were they going? Were they leaving Stroud behind? They should've run back for him, dragged him with them, saved him too. Everyone should've made it out alive.

He felt the electrically charged air of a Rift flood around him like a tide of water, green light shining even through his eyelids.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._


	42. Grey Skies and Green Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, if you came to this one first, just wanted to let you know it was part of a double update! This one and the previous are both new :) I've been realizing how short the chapters seem with the site's formatting, so I might end up doing double-updates for each updating round; what do you guys think?

Warden Mahariel sat on a low wall with her legs dangling, a piece of parchment spread flat on a stray board of wood on her lap. A quill dangled between two fingers in her right hand, and she chewed on her lower lip, unsure of where to start writing.

Grey skies churned above Adamant, angry and dark, heavy and fat from holding on to their rain. The rift that the Orlesian mage Wardens had opened up was still a crisp green scar in the lower portion of the courtyard, roughly twenty paces from where Shesi sat; she couldn't bring herself to abandon watching it.

The Inquisitor and her companions had disappeared three days ago.

She had to tell the others.

_Warden-Commander Nalida,_ she wrote first, addressing the top of the parchment, then scribbled over it. She'd known him for ten years—first names were needed right now.

_Corvis,_ she wrote at the top instead.

She knew he'd show the letter to Palla, Nate, and everyone else that had joined the search for the Calling's cure. She knew a certain one of those Wardens would fly into a murderous rage at the fact that Warden Surana had fallen physically into a Fade rift and never returned. She was dreading that.

Her black wolf, Jinx, trotted up to her and immediately lay at her feet, licking some dirt off her greaves. Weird boy; she smiled affectionately and leaned down to scratch his scruff, then straightened back up.

_As you know,_ she began, the quill's scratching filling her ears, _we have joined the Inquisition in the assault on Adamant fortress._ She wouldn't waste words. _They were building a large demon army here, but the Inquisition destroyed it. The Orlesian Wardens didn't fare well; only a few laid down their arms and survived. I've put them temporarily under my command until you're able to oversee them._

A couple of the Orlesian Wardens had expressed distaste over being transferred to Fereldan command—if only because the Fereldan Warden-Commander was Antivan and insufferably cocky—but she'd given them no choice. It was either that or be banished. Warden Blackwall _should_ have had a say, with his position, but he'd offered absolutely no commentary other than that they shouldn't be banished and the decision wasn't up to him.

Odd. There was something very odd about him. But it was done. The Inquisitor should have made that decision…but Nanyehi was gone.

Along with Ellie… _shit._ Shesi pinched the bridge of her nose when she felt tears coming on.

_But, of course, I have more bad news,_ she wrote, sucking in a deep breath to steady her hand. _During the assault on the fortress, the Inquisitor and six of her companions fell into the Fade. Physically._

She had to write it. She had to.

_Ellie was with them. None have returned after three days of waiting, and I'm writing this because no one present has high hopes of them coming back._

Well, except for a few. Varric was stubbornly insistent on Hawke being able to survive absolutely anything and on Finn being made of literal rubber; there was that. Cole kept insisting he could faintly hear their thoughts in brief flickers. Solas was strangely calm.

But the others weren't faring as well. Commander Cullen was especially beside himself; every time she saw him, he was pacing, his face drained of all color and his hands wringing together. Iron Bull seemed pretty worked up, although Krem was doing his best to calm the Qunari down. Sera was a ball of nerves, cussing up an even heavier storm than the one above Shesi's head. Blackwall had gone silent.

_I feel like it's right to remain with the Inquisition for now while they pick up the pieces. They've lost their Inquisitor, Seeker Pentaghast, Warden Stroud, the Champion of Kirkwall… As you can imagine, everyone stuck here on the other side is a mess at the moment._

_I accept full responsibility for Ellie's loss. I promised to take care of her, and I failed._

She couldn't write any more. Her shoulders hunched up and her head fell forward; she clenched her teeth hard, trying to stop the tears, but couldn't hold them back any longer. Ellie might've said she'd been lucky to survive ten years at all, with all the crazy things that had happened to their group of Wardens, but all Shesi knew was that a friend of ten years, someone she'd stopped the Blight with, was gone.

Her eyes were blurry as she finished the letter with _Please convey the sorrow I can't properly express with this pen and my words,_ and her name, then let the quill drop and clatter to the stone ground.

The air shifted faintly to her right, and she knew from the subtle way he'd appeared that it was Zevran.

"Sssh, _io sono con te,"_ he murmured, fine-boned hands combing through her hair and plucking out a stray leaf. Shesi didn't look up, just leaned to the side, and Zevran pulled her head to his chest, cradling her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

It wasn't like Zevran to have no words, usually, but he didn't, and that was best. She tilted her face into his chest and sagged against him. He briefly freed one hand to pry the parchment from her fingers, rolling it up so she wouldn't stain it with her tears. She breathed in the smells she'd associated with him for ten years, breathed them in like life-giving air—sharp steel, Antivan leather and sandalwood, the slightest hint of bitter poison.

He was here, with her, as he had been for the past ten years. It would have to be enough.

***

As soon as the humid, stormy air of the other side of the rift hit him, Finn felt the ice slough off him like sheets of rainwater.

He took his first full breath of muggy air as white ice rained from his body, yanking out of his chest as if someone had grabbed onto the other end and pulled. It was a cacophonous racket of ice flake after ice flake shattering against stone; the sound was so loud he winced and flicked his long ears downward and back.

"Good grief," Dorian said, awfully close, "you've got your own personal waterfall, Finn. Think you've got enough to become a tourist attraction?"

Finn's eyes snapped open.

So that was who held him, one arm curved under his legs and the other around his back. Finn looked down, realizing there was a scaly pile of shimmering ice beneath him, just starting to melt, little rivulets of water seeping into the cracks of the stone it lay on.

"Hey, look at this," Finn said, his eyes brightening. "We made it out!"

"That we did," Dorian said, his eyes soft.

Screw it. Screw the people watching, if there were any. Finn threw his arms tight around Dorian's neck, squeezing him and kissing him rather loudly on the cheek. Dorian squeezed back even tighter, for a minute, until he coughed and managed to rasp out that he couldn't breathe.

Finn wriggled a little, and Dorian dropped him to his feet after moving away from the ice pile. It was gone, and he felt blissfully warm; he flexed his fingers, curled his toes, felt his heart beating steadily in his chest once again.

They hadn't been the first to step out of the rift in the courtyard, it seemed. There was Cassandra with an arm looped around River Hawke, still supporting her weight. The rift shimmered again, and out came Nani, Warden Surana draped unmoving over her back.

At first Finn expected the worst. Then Nani bent to let Ellie on her feet, and the Warden healer stood steadily on her own two legs, the color returning to her skin. The sickly map of blue veins vanished, as did the cloud over her eyes; she blinked, as if not expecting to be alive, and then her face broke into a lively grin.

Nani reached a hand behind her after a moment of hesitating, obviously weary, and closed the rift with a _boom._ The air shuddered and warped, then grew calm once more.

"Ellie!" someone yelled, and a small, dark-skinned form barreled past Finn and all but crashed into her. It was Warden Mahariel, Finn realized. He had only a moment to watch them squeeze each other in a tight hug—and to watch Zevran join them—before Nani grabbed him in a hug of her own, her chin over his shoulder, cheek nuzzled against his neck.

Shesi's outburst must have alerted everyone else in Adamant to their return, because people started pouring around them like an ant infestation. As soon as Nani let go of Finn, she was swept off her feet in a crushing hug by Iron Bull, who spun her around in no less than three circles before letting her back to her feet. Sera threw herself at Finn, squeezed him tight, called him an arsehole for disappearing into a rift, then let go to greet someone else. Nani had already been grabbed in another hug, this one by Blackwall. Everywhere Finn looked there were friends, soldiers, agents…everyone had waited here, at Adamant, for them to come back.

It was touching, to say the least. And the sudden spike of enthusiasm left Finn breathless.

He twisted to see River on her knees, hugging Varric like she'd nearly drowned and just found a floating buoy. Then Varric grabbed Finn's arm, growled "get down here, you crazy jackass," and Finn complied, dropping to his knees to join the hug.

He saw a flash of deep red—Nani trying to avoid being fussed over by a few agents, it looked like—and caught sight of a grumpy-looking Dorian trying to evade Iron Bull's bear hug and failing. Nani made it over to Solas, who put a hand on her shoulder and said something Finn couldn't hear. Cole, watching all of it, had a tentative smile on his face and a shimmer in his light blue eyes.

When Finn finally stood, it seemed Bull was going for him next. Giant, muscular arms crushed around him and whipped him off his feet; he did his best to not crack his spine in half as Bull swung him around in a circle.

"I _knew_ you'd be fun to pick up," Bull grunted, dropping Finn on his feet. "Glad you're back, Finn."

"Glad to _be_ back," Finn said, grinning despite himself.

He turned, unsure of where Bull's violent hug had left him standing among the small crowd, and found himself face to face with Dorian—well, more like face to collarbone, with their height difference.

"One more?" Finn said hopefully, looking up at him and lifting his arms for a hug.

Dorian chuckled roughly. "Perish the thought of _ever_ saying no to that."

The taller mage wrapped his arms around Finn's middle and hefted him off his feet, but didn't twirl him, thank goodness. Finn wasn't sure his ribs could take another Bull-esque hug. He circled his arms around Dorian's neck and breathed in his scent, just _breathed,_ trying to convince himself that they'd really stepped out of the Beyond and they could really go _home._

Then Dorian set him gently on his feet and stepped back. Finn caught a glimpse of Nani several paces away, and realized Cullen had found her.

The Commander was holding both of her small, ivory hands in his own and talking rapidly, his questions so hushed Finn nearly couldn't understand them. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? What happened in there? You were missing for three days. How did you come back out? Did you have to get past that demon? How—"

Nani actually let out a small laugh, like a tinkling of bells. "I'm _fine,_ Cullen. I'll tell you all about it when I'm not so tired."

The look they shared between them was so intimate and private that Finn wanted to stare at them and make funny faces until they got uncomfortable. He looked away instead—leaving his big brother duties unfulfilled—and shifted his eyes to the faint green shimmer in the air where the rift used to be.

"Hawke," he heard Varric say a few paces behind him, "where's Stroud?"

"I…" River said, shakily. "He didn't make it out, Varric…"

Finn's heart thudded in his chest.

What would've happened if Stroud hadn't sacrificed himself to the Nightmare? Finn wouldn't have been any help, lying on the ground half-dead with ice clawing towards his heart. Warden Surana had been inches away from never waking up. River's leg was broken. Only Stroud, Cassandra, Nani, and Dorian had been uninjured, and Stroud had thrown himself into the Nightmare's path without question. Ran unwaveringly towards easily one of the most powerful demons the world had ever seen.

_Man after my own heart,_ Finn thought wistfully, sobering.

People were still talking, but several had quieted down, staring at where the rift had been, as if Stroud was about to step out like the rest of them had.

The veil was thin here, wasn't it? Finn lifted his hand and reached with his mind for tendrils of the Beyond, beckoning for them. When he flattened his palm, it filled with flickering aquamarine fire, ethereal and soundless.

Veilfire.

" _Dar'atisha, 'ma falon,"_ he said simply, holding up the coldly burning veilfire like a farewell torch. _Go in peace, my friend._

Beside him, Dorian lit his own veilfire, just as he'd sent up a burst of red light alongside Finn when they'd waited on the snowy mountainside for Nani to escape Haven. " _Requiscat in pace,"_ the Tevene mage said, his smooth voice filling Finn's ears as his native language rolled off his tongue.

A few of the mages—Ellie and Solas included—silently lit little spires of veilfire in their palms. Some of the people stopped to marvel at the cold fire, others continued talking. River, Finn saw, was watching where the rift had been with sadness in her eyes. Nani had turned to silently look.

Stroud's sacrifice had not been in vain, whether he knew it or not. The fact that they all stood here, having a mini celebration, was testament to the last sacrifice the old Warden would ever make.

It was probably nothing new in Stroud's book, the concept of martyrdom. But Finn would never forget.


	43. Smoke and Masks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one, but this one's a standalone this time. There will very likely be more double updates in the future though :)

Finn could tell, without even seeing him, that Dorian's aura was crackling and snapping with unresolved tension.

The fellow mage had been irritable and peevish since they'd made camp on the low, soft sand banks next to a river—maybe the _one_ river, aside from Hawke—in the Western Approach. Naturally, Dorian was never up front with said irritability, and instead disguised it under a carefully crafted mask of dry wit and sarcasm. He'd noticed Dorian doing this with Varric, who shrugged it off good-naturedly like he was well-accustomed to such a thing as hiding a temper, _and_ with Bull, who'd made the unfortunate mistake of asking Dorian if "the 'Vint enjoyed the Fade trip."

Fairly certain Dorian's mood had something to do with him, Finn had tried to be patient and put his mind to other tasks instead. His hair needed washing, badly. So he sat cross-legged next to the lazily flowing river, cupping handfuls of warmer-than-he'd-like water and scrubbing that through his hair.

It wasn't an easy thing, erasing hours upon hours of demonic ash, blood, dirt, and who knew what else from his snowy white hair. But he tried, regardless, rinsing and scrubbing with a determined fervor as life went on in camp around him.

The dusk sky was a pretty thing, here in the desert. Through the high canyon walls of red clay he could see a dome of deepening blue, the scattered layers of clouds picking up shades of dark orange and purple and grey. And the sky darkened to night as he washed his hair, camp activity ceasing around him, his elven eyes the only thing that let him see in the dark.

Now, hair damp from river water and springing into exaggerated waves around his head, Finn wondered if heading into the tent for some rest would probably be a good idea.

Not that sleep would come easy right now. He found himself jittery and fidgety, as he often did after a catastrophic life event. But he'd try in a moment anyway, lest he risk being a crabby arsehole in the morning from lack of rest.

Distraction first.

There were a lot of people up and about right now, mostly the ones who _hadn't_ been bodily in the Beyond. Finn spotted Varric sitting at a firepit with dwindling flames inside, working on a flagon of something that was probably alcoholic—the soldiers must've brought some for morale, most likely.

River Hawke sat next to him, her broken shinbone splinted with a thin plank of wood and a long length of medicinal wrap bound around it. There were a couple other people at the fire, but Finn fixed his attention on Varric when the dwarf looked over his shoulder and beckoned him over.

"Join us, Frosty," Varric said. "We're enjoying what's left of the Westhill Brandy that Twiggy found out here. It's good."

So that was who sat with them. Finn sunk down to the sand, cross-legged, and regarded Warden Mahariel and Zevran across the firepit. Zevran, as if spurred by Varric's nickname, reached over and picked a dried scrub-oak leaf out of Shesi's hair.

"Life's too short to _not_ drink sketchy booze you found in the middle of the desert, Varric," Shesi said, taking a swig of her own.

"Notes of blackcurrant, honeysuckle…" Zevran said with an air of aristocracy, smirking and raising his flagon high, "ah, it reminds me of a lass I once met in Rialto…"

"And that's the last word we're going to hear on this probably _very flexible_ lass," Shesi said, shifting over to plop a kiss on Zevran's cheek. Then she shifted her jade green eyes to Finn. "Want some? It _probably_ won't kill us."

"You won't catch me saying no to an offering of alcohol," Finn said with a crooked smile, taking the flagon she offered and watching her pour a douse of amber-brown liquid inside. "Has anyone seen Nani? There aren't any big trees around here for her to meditate in."

Last he'd seen Nani, she'd been determining the fate of what was left of the Orlesian Wardens. She'd figured that messing with Grey Wardens wouldn't end well, and so she'd decided they would ultimately end up under Fereldan command. Once Warden-Commander Nalida was able to meet with the Inquisition, the remainder of the Orlesian Wardens would be under his control.

It seemed reasonable enough—Corvis had resisted the bulk of the Wardens' decision to bind themselves to Corypheus in the first place and gotten his few Wardens safely away. Finn had only met him once, during the battle in Denerim, but he seemed strong-willed enough to…well…fix this massive fuck-up.

"Last I saw, she was speaking with Commander Cullen," River said, swirling the brandy in her flagon and snapping him back to the subject of his sister. The sunset sky made the midnight black of her hair ripple with dimming light as she shifted her head. "Goodness knows I don't want to witness their _conversation."_

"Goodness knows I do," Zevran said with a smirk.

Shesi chuckled, then smacked his shoulder.

Finn doubted there was anything questionable going on—his sister wasn't exactly a sexual person, to put it bluntly. Then again, he really didn't know. And he really didn't want to know. That was just one of those mysteries you could go the rest of your life never solving.

He took a sip of brandy, feeling it flow with its gentle burn down his throat.

"Hawke," Varric said, brushing sand off his pant legs, "just so you know, I'm going to write a letter to Fenris."

" _Arse."_

"Hey! He needs to know you're alright. The last thing I want is Broody tracking me down in a murderous rage because I never told him where you were."

River sighed. "Varric, I _told_ you I snuck away and didn't say where I was going. I didn't want him to follow and get hurt. It could still happen. All the red lyrium we come into contact with is making me nervous."

"The thought of Broody finding us on his own is making _me_ nervous," Varric said, holding his hands defensively in the air, palms forward.

"I'm telling you, don't contact him. It's better this way. I'll find him when Corypheus is dead."

Varric snorted. "I'd say 'your funeral', but it's all of our funerals at this point."

"So long as my funeral has luscious wood nymphs," Zevran said, lifting his flagon like he was toasting someone invisible.

Shesi's eyes, though, were fixed right behind where Finn was sitting. "I'll tell you whose funeral it's about to be."

_Uh oh,_ Finn thought, freezing.

"Fancy finding you in such a place." That was Dorian's voice, unmistakably, the sound of it stirring the usual erratic _thump-thump-thump_ in Finn's chest. Finn twisted where he sat to look up at Dorian, offering the other mage an inviting smile, but Dorian just lifted an eyebrow. "Your poor sister has been looking for you all over. Lucky for you, she has helpful people like me to find you."

Finn was just able to hand Varric his brandy before Dorian hefted him off the ground and slung him over his shoulder.

_Oof._ Finn's ribs creaked their defiance, and he pushed flat-handed on Dorian's back, trying to adjust his position. "Did Nani specifically ask you to carry me like a corpse?" he asked, getting a perfect view of the amused people around the campfire as Dorian turned and started walking. "I wouldn't be _that_ surprised if she had, but—"

"No, no. I was given full creative license over the retrieval process," Dorian said, his arm locked upwards around Finn's middle as he went, a sort of irritated zest in his walk.

"You weren't very creative," Finn teased, watching the orange-red sand pass under his dangling arms as Dorian walked. "You've used this method before. I think Nani should give you only partial pay for half-arsing."

By the tone of Dorian's words, he wasn't sinking into their usual cheerful bantering. "I can assure you that finding you was an arduous task in itself. If you didn't have white hair, you'd sink right into obscurity."

Finn wryly twisted his mouth. "The campsite isn't such a hard place to find me in, you know."

"Oh, I don't know that." By the looks of it, Dorian had just taken him _past_ Nani's tent; Finn was confused. "Are there any bridges about? You seem to like flinging yourself merrily off of them like a lemming."

" _Hey."_ Finn took advantage of his position and swatted Dorian's rear. "One, that bridge collapsed under us, in case you happened to not notice that. Two, you're being a turd. Three, lemmings don't actually—"

"I'm being a _turd._ What a masterful command of Trade Tongue you have there, Finn. Truly a work of linguistic art. We should parade you about Val Royeaux so every aristocrat can be tickled pink by your exquisite prose."

By now, Finn was absolutely certain their missing the Inquisitor's tent was intentional—pun only slightly intended.

"What's this about, Dorian?" he asked. "Are you mugging me and taking all my money? I'm poor, really. Mug my sister. I hear she's important."

"What _is_ this about, I wonder?" Dorian said with an edge of sarcasm, grabbing Finn's middle and lifting him back to his feet. The tent stood next to them, its beige canvas nearly camouflaged with the sand it sat on. "Perhaps someone—oh, I don't know, a marginally insane elf I seem to be fond of—needs a talking to."

Finn raised an incredulous eyebrow, but decided to be compliant and slipped into the tent's dim interior.

"I don't see how any of this is my fault," he said once Dorian joined him inside and let the tent flap fall back into place. "It's not like I went up to the Nightmare, dropped down on my knees, and  _begged_ it to freeze me alive."

It bothered him, more than he cared to articulate, that he'd been incapacitated and hadn't been able to get Stroud to safety with the rest of them. Maybe if he'd been on his feet, maybe if he'd ran,  _maybe…_ it was a whole lot of "maybe"s that didn't really matter anymore.

"Might I point out you _did_ toss yourself in front of a great bear in the Fade?" Dorian said, narrowing his eyes. "Has it escaped you that this seems to be a recurring habit of yours? The demon horde at Redcliffe, that behemoth at Haven—"

"I was trying to _protect you,"_ Finn interrupted, a little more snappishly than he'd been intending.

Because, even in the throes of a panic attack, his heart had nearly stopped at the sight of the bear about to take Dorian down. Because he couldn't stomach the thought of Dorian getting hurt—or worse. He hadn't meant to sharpen his words like that, but…

"I wish I could've protected everyone and gotten us _all_ out of the Beyond, without any sacrifices," he continued, wringing his hands together. Dorian was staring at him silently, his eyes wide. "I'm sure Nani wanted the same thing, too. It kills me that Stroud had to get torn apart by that giant Nightmare to let us escape. But above all, I…I couldn't let anything happen to _you."_

The silence cut between them like the sharpest of knives.

Then Dorian's eyes softened, and his shoulders slumped a little, and he reached a hand up to tuck some wavy frost-white hair behind Finn's pointed ear.

"I thought you were done for," Dorian finally said. "I thought… _this is it. This it the moment I've finally lost him."_ His mouth twisted, like he'd just sucked on a lemon. "And I thought that multiple times, I'll have you know. Not the most pleasant of excursions."

Finn wrung his hands together.

"I wish it had gone differently," he said. "Maybe we should've just let Clarel and Erimond duke it out on the bridge so there wouldn't have been any danger of falling. Maybe if we'd all been more resistant to the Nightmare, I wouldn't have nearly frozen to death and Warden Surana wouldn't have nearly died from a fake Calling. I guess what I'm trying to say is…next time, we'll do better. _I'll do better._ I'll be able to command my own barriers better. I'll get stronger. I'll actually be someone worthy of the battlemage title, and maybe if we get caught in another bullshit situation, it'll make enough of a difference to get us all out alive."

"I was wondering when that optimism would show up," Dorian said with a light chuckle.

"We may have fucked this one up a little, but we've got the next one." Finn grinned and gave Dorian's shoulder a nudge with his knuckles. "Let's just be happy we got that second chance."

"That _is_ the important thing, isn't it?" Dorian tilted Finn's chin up and leaned down to kiss him. "You _do_ have your wise moments, Finn."

"I just hide them in a thick forest of stupid." He laughed, catching both of Dorian's hands and tugging him a step deeper into the tent. "We're both here. We're both alive. What say we do some  _celebrating_ of our own?"

Dorian's grin was nearly feral. "As you say."


	44. Talking Strategy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update! (1 of 2)

Nani hadn't truly appreciated the war room until now.

Earlier, the room had seemed confining to her Dalish eyes, stone walls closing in on her, giant wood-hewn table much larger than any piece of furniture had any right to be. Now it felt warm, comfortable, fortified from the terrors of the outside. Sunlight washed the room in a faint buttery tinge as it filtered through the stained glass windows in the grey stone walls. It was a little chilly in the room, but she had her long-sleeved tunic to keep her warm.

Dalish hunters didn't usually go into the Beyond. Ever. That was for dreaming mages and for the souls of the dead. Being there _physically_ had taken a toll on her psyche and on her tense muscles—she thought she'd never get the knots out of her shoulders and neck.

She didn't feel like standing, so she sat cross-legged on an edge of the table, her rear directly on Rivain. The ordeal at Adamant and the journey home had put her in an obsessive mood to clean up, and she'd just gotten out of the bath; she'd left her dark red hair down around her shoulders, and it smelled like vanilla.

"How many Wardens did you say were left?" Josephine said, balancing her wooden writing slat with one hand.

"A few." Nani reached down and rubbed the arches of her bare feet. "I'd say seven at the most. They took a huge toll at Adamant. Mostly because all the mages and demons were still compelled to fight even after the warriors and rogues joined our side."

"They'll have proper lodgings until Warden Mahariel sees fit to return them to Warden-Commander Nalida," Josephine said, scribbling something on her notepaper.

"Do we honestly trust them?" Cullen asked. He looked pale, Nanyehi noted—his complexion had a greyer tinge than usual. Post-battle stress? Whatever it was, it didn't look healthy. "I know they surrendered and fought with us at the end, but they still followed Clarel right into Corypheus's clutches."

"If you trust no one else," Leliana said, "trust Warden Mahariel and Surana to make the right decision."

"That's a lot of stake to put on them," Cullen argued.

"I would put my life in their hands," Leliana snapped. "And it would not be the first time."

Cullen fell silent, passing a hand over his forehead and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"That's that," Nani said, wanting to change the subject. "Leliana, I take it you got the message I sent you by bird while we were still traveling home through the Western Approach? Have you gotten any leads?"

Leliana nodded, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "My research has turned up _some_ things, Inquisitor, but probably not as much as you'd like. The name Aoëthian is, in fact, a Dalish one. Like you'd suspected." She shifted her weight onto one hip, the skirts of her armor shifting around her thighs. "Supposedly, there was a Clan Aoëthian native to the Frostback Mountains that was wiped out of existence in the early Storm Age. No reports exist of any Dalish from that clan since."

Nani drummed her fingers on her ankles.

"Early Storm Age," she repeated. "That's two centuries ago."

And yet the Nightmare had etched _Finirial Ao_ _ë_ _thian_ onto his headstone in that creepy graveyard she'd stumbled onto, as if it belonged there, tacked onto her own brother's name. Even if they had someone from Clan Aoëthian in their bloodlines, the ties were too old to consider the clan name of any importance.

She'd been hoping the Nightmare had just made the name up to mess with her head. Yet it existed.

"And nothing else?" she asked.

Leliana shook her head. "Not at the moment. I will keep looking into this matter, however. I suspect there's something to it."

As did Nani. And it was getting under her skin.

New subject.

She looked at Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine in turn, rolling her shoulders about to loosen them. "Now that we've taken Corypheus's Wardens from him, do we have any leads on his next move? As far as I remember from the future we saw in Redcliffe, he plans to have the Empress of Orlais assassinated."

"Empress Celene will be hosting peace talks during a masquerade ball in her palace in Halamshiral," Josephine told them. "She has many enemies. It's highly likely one of them will try to target her during the ball." Her lips tweaked into a self-satisfied smile. "Luckily for us, I've managed to secure invitations for the Inquisition. We'll be attending as guests of Duke Gaspard, but it's better than nothing, yes?"

"And when is the ball?" Nani asked.

"In a couple months' time. I will keep making the necessary arrangements—you should take care of other things in the meantime. It's likely to be a waiting game."

And Nani didn't particularly like those. She'd been one of the clan's best hunters because she could step lightly and swiftly and she could _shoot;_ some of them had the patience to sit for hours in a tree and wait for prey to come to them, and she'd always been too fidgety.

Cullen cleared his throat. "In the meantime, Nanyehi, there _is_ something that requires your attention. We've lost some soldiers in the south of Ferelden to Avvar tribesmen. Supposedly, they're holding them hostage until you agree to come personally."

Nani gave him a fond smile for remembering to use her name instead of her title. "I'll mount an expedition shortly, then."

Josephine's pen made a scratching noise as she wrote on her notepaper.

It was weird, almost, talking to her three advisors as if she'd never been bodily in the Beyond at all. Listening to Cullen's armor creaking, Josephine writing notes, Leliana's soft breathing. Maybe that was what they wanted to do; focus on things other than Adamant, move on, look forward.

Still, there was something she'd learned there that she couldn't let go of just yet.

"One more thing," she said. "Let's talk strategy for a moment."

"I'm all ears," Cullen promised her.

Nani smiled; she'd heard elves use that phrase before, as a joke.

"We've been going about fights all wrong, in my opinion," she started. "Here's the thing—warriors are tough, sure, but they can only take so many hits. The majority of warriors are going to be felled by something big like a behemoth or pride demon or ogre." Or the Nightmare's Aspect, as she remembered. Not physically big, but powerful. "I faced down Corypheus myself. I know how much magic he has at his disposal. Guarded or not, he'd be able to take down warriors like flies. Even ones like Cassandra and Blackwall. And I don't want to put them in front of Corypheus just to lose them to improper strategizing."

"What do you suggest, Inquisitor?" Leliana asked, her blue-grey eyes narrowed in thought.

"Mages."

Cullen gave her an incredulous look. "You're joking."

She raised her hands, palm forward, as if to say _hold on._ "I'm not. Look—even with heavy armor, a warrior could still get burned to a crisp, electrocuted, frozen, what have you. They're best against physical weapons. A _mage_ can absorb attack after attack, if they have a good enough barrier and know how to use it."

"As can Templars," Cullen reminded her.

Leliana twisted her lips.

"To a point," Nani said. "I know how powerful a Templar's spell purge can be, but _nothing_ gets past a strong barrier. And if the mage in question can, I don't know, continuously recycle that barrier so it feeds off their attack power and doesn't burn out…"

"Only battlemages can do that," Leliana said. "You could be speaking of Lady Vivienne, but you're not. You're speaking of your brother."

Smart woman.

Nani nodded. "Having a bow gives me a good chance to step back and observe the whole battlefield. And while we were fighting an Aspect of the Nightmare…Finn honestly absorbed more magical attacks—and physical ones—than I have ever seen before. Stroud and Cassandra would have been shredded by that thing by the end. Shields can only do so much."

"What are you suggesting?" Josephine furrowed her brows. "Throw Finn alone in front of Corypheus? Barriers or no, he'll die."

"Will he?" Nani raised a brow. "He's made it this far, despite everything. And he wouldn't be _alone._ If we have ranged attackers—archers, for example—hitting him from more concealed locations, they can do a great deal of damage without losing their lives for it."

"You'd sacrifice your own brother?" Leliana asked, her shoulders tight and squared.

"You _know_ I don't want that." Nani heaved a big sigh and slumped where she sat. "But what happens if I abandon all forms of strategy and keep him in a squishy safe place during battles because I love him? The Inquisition will lose people. A lot of people. Even the _Chantry_ puts knight-enchanters in the front lines for a reason."

"This is all well and good, Inquisitor," Leliana said, "but we don't even have Corypheus's whereabouts, and we certainly can't turn Halamshiral into a battlefield."

"I know," Nanyehi said. "I brought this up beforehand for a purpose. Josephine—" she turned to the Antivan, "—I want a good portion of Inquisition funds put into finding Finn better armor. Those Dalish leathers aren't going to last him. Something enchantable, preferably." She swiveled, swung her legs over the side of the table, and hopped to the floor. "I'm going to make sure Vivienne has Finn in intensive training whenever she can."

_What is he, a weapon?_ the more sentimental side of her argued. _A pawn? He's your brother. He raised you since you were two or three._

And yet the sentimental side of her, if everyone had listened to it before the fight with the Nightmare's Aspect, would have gotten them all in serious danger.

"As you like, Inquisitor." Josephine made another note.

Nani stood straight, making her voice firm. "There aren't going to be any sacrifices. That's why we're preparing early. We're going to give Finn as much invincibility as possible, and when Corypheus comes after the Inquisition, we're going to take that monster down."


	45. Reunite the Runaways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update! (2 of 2)

River Hawke limped her way up to Josephine's office in the antechamber outside the war room, pausing every so often to give her leg a rest.

Warden Surana had done her best to heal the shattered shinbone—and her best really was quite good, River had to admit. Maybe even better than Anders could have done. River could walk on the leg now, although she had to keep it splinted so the weakened, healing fractures wouldn't twist or jar out of place.

She should have been on her way to Weisshaupt right now, informing the First Warden there of the catastrophe at Adamant. She'd offered. But Varric had given her an extremely emphatic "I don't _really_ want Broody to rip my heart out," and so the Inquisition had sent a group of agents instead. They'd travel faster than she could have, regardless. Skyhold seemed like a good enough place to let her leg finish healing, and the Inquisition could certainly use all the help it could get. There were sufficient supplies and quarters here; she'd stay unless something came up.

Josephine wasn't at her desk when River pushed the door open, so she walked unsteadily over to the bulletin board, combing tangles and snags out of her inky black hair with her fingers. Nanyehi had written a couple notes and pinned them to the board; River peered at the first one.

_Expedition: The Fallow Mire,_ Nanyehi had written as the title. Her handwriting was getting better. _We've received reports of Inquisition soldiers being held hostage by a group of Avvar whose leader wants to see me personally. I'd rather not ignore this. Bring gear that can withstand heavy rain and mud._

River doubted she'd be accompanying the Inquisitor within the next few days, due to her healing leg, but she liked to know the comings and goings of everyone regardless. Shifting her weight onto her good leg, she read the note adjacent to the first.

_Expedition: Valammar,_ was the title of this one. _Varric has a contact who seems to know something about shipments of red lyrium coming out of here. With any luck, we can cut off those shipments and weaken the Red Templars. No doubt they have other sources, but we're doing all we can. Finn will be leading this expedition in my stead, since I'll be in the Fallow Mire. You may encounter darkspawn in Valammar—take all necessary precautions to avoid getting sick._

There was a third note pinned to the board, a little separated from the rest, but all it said was: _Dorian, I have a letter for you. Come see me when you're able._

Interesting—and worthy of her snooping, if she allowed herself to be nosy—but she decided it wasn't her business. Feeling rather useless in her current state, she left the office in the antechamber and strode back out into the main hall.

Within a few days' time, just about everyone she knew here would be gone. If Finn was heading into Valammar, River _knew_ Dorian would come with him. Not to mention it was Varric's contact they were meeting, so Varric would go with him as well. Solas seemed to be fond of Finn, so maybe he'd go with them too. And Nanyehi would take as many as she could with her to the Fallow Mire. River had gotten so used to being surrounded by her companions—her messed up, ragtag and very loved family of sorts—that the prospect of being alone was chilling at best.

Well, Ellie was here. Warden Surana had agreed to be stationed as the Inquisition's healer, for the time being. River didn't think she'd be going on any expeditions at the moment. That was something. Warden Mahariel and Zevran were still here as well, but they'd no doubt want to make themselves useful and head out with one of the groups.

Still, River felt a bit pointless at the moment. The famed Champion of Kirkwall shouldn't have been walking with a slight limp through Skyhold's main hall, accompanied by no one and accomplishing nothing. What had the Nightmare said? Something about her own incompetence; even outside of the Fade, the damn banished thing was still affecting her.

Should she have been letting it? No. Was she? You bet your boots she was.

"Looking a little sad there, Hawke," came Varric's voice from somewhere to her left.

River looked, but the dwarf was already getting to his feet and striding towards her. She relaxed immediately; she'd missed Varric like crazy after the events of Kirkwall, and getting an opportunity to speak with him without impending doom over their heads was…refreshing.

"Everything's so…different," River noted, continuing her course through the main hall.

Varric kept pace with her easily. "I seem to recall a certain someone saying 'that's what happens when you change things. Things change.' Sound familiar?"

Right. She'd said that. "I liked how things changed in Kirkwall, though…minus the Qunari and bloodshed and mage slaughter, of course. Things changed, but we always had each other." Faces and voices whirled through her head. "I could always visit Anders's clinic in Darktown if I wanted to use a minor scrape as an excuse to chat. Merrill would always greet me with a smile at her front door. If I went into the Hanged Man, you and Isabela were there. If I needed something done, Aveline was there in a heartbeat. Bethany's letters were always on my desk. Fenris was…" Always by her side.

Maybe even Prince Sebastian, for a time, but he'd abandoned her when she'd spared Anders's life. And she didn't forgive abandonment.

He'd gone back to Starkhaven, she was pretty sure. Merrill had never quite forgiven River for trying to protect her from the eluvian, so after the big battle in the Gallows, she'd left to join the other elves fleeing from Kirkwall. Bethany should've been under the Warden-Commander's protection right now, if he'd done as River asked. Aveline and her husband Donnic were holding Kirkwall together. Isabela was off in a ship somewhere, back on the ocean she loved so much. Anders…who the hell knew.

"We had some good times," Varric agreed.

River set her hand on his broad shoulder as she went down the long set of steps that led out of the main hall. "And that's the thing—back then, things changed _around us._ Now… _we've_ changed."

"Your favorite dwarf is still here," Varric reminded her. "Recording everything you say in his head so he can add it to his newest novel."

"You suck."

"And you love me."

That she did. River smiled fondly, squeezing his shoulder as she stepped onto the moist grass of Skyhold's grounds. "Do you think Sebastian actually plans on invading Kirkwall?"

"After he bores everyone in Starkhaven? Sure." Varric shaded his eyes from the mountain sun as he walked. "You could ask Sharpshot if she's gotten any word of it."

"Who?"

"Or should I go back to just Inquisitor?" Varric mused aloud. "No, too formal."

River blinked silently a few times. "You hadn't given Nanyehi one of your special nicknames before. I thought she scared you shitless."

"She _did,"_ Varric said. "With that _ooooh non-elves bad, kill them all_ vibe she used to have." He cleared his throat. "But she got your injured ass safely out of the Fade. As far as I'm concerned, that alone earns her as many special nicknames as I can manage. I'll stick to one, though. For ease of reference."

Mentioning her willingness to sacrifice herself to the Nightmare would probably not be for the best right now. Nanyehi had let Stroud do it instead, and here River was, walking where he could've walked. Even aside from everything else, Corypheus deserved to die just for that.

"Does she know about this nickname?" River asked. Her course had meandered towards the tavern without her meaning it to, and she found herself pleased by this.

"Oh, she'll figure it out soon enough." Varric stopped just outside the tavern's entrance. "You go on in. I'll be right back. Got some arrangements I need to make for the next trip to the Hinterlands."

"Who's going to buy my drink?" River teased, stepping inside and turning briefly to face him.

"Dye your hair red and Tiny will be all over you," Varric said with a snicker, leaving.

True. Iron Bull— _the_ Iron Bull, rather, as he insisted upon it—did seem to have a thing for red hair. River had caught him eyeing Nanyehi plenty of times, although he seemed to eye Finn just as much, if not more. Him, and Dorian. She loved gossip too much to miss fun things like that.

But the first people she spotted were Shesi and Zevran at a table—packaged deal, those two—seated across from Finn and Dorian with four mugs between them.

She was just about to approach them—Finn even glanced up and waved her over with a friendly smile—when heavy, hurried footsteps startled her from behind.

"Change of plans," Varric said. "Hawke, get out of the tavern."

"But I just got here!" River protested. And a cold ale sounded so _good…_

"Either that, or Sparkler gets kicked out," Varric said, pointing at Dorian.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "What in the world did _I_ do?"

River narrowed her eyes in suspicion. What was Varric doing? He'd certainly gotten the whole tavern's attention; there weren't a huge amount of people in here at the moment, but a couple of scouts were already getting up and leaving. Shesi had frozen with a fork in her mouth, and Zevran was eyeing the fork approvingly.

Varric shot a glance Finn's way. "Help me out here, Frosty."

Finn didn't seem any more sure of the situation than River was, but the elven mage obliged anyway, getting up out of his seat. "Alright, Dorian," he said, patting the Tevene mage's shoulder from behind, "I have no idea what Varric has against you at the moment, but let's go. I'll make it up to you."

"Oh?" Dorian stood. "Suddenly banishment doesn't sound half bad."

"I'll show you half bad," Finn said with a wink.

"That was by far the worst flirting I've ever heard," Dorian said, chuckling as he followed Finn out of the tavern.

River crossed her arms over her chest and peered down at Varric.

"Before you kill me," Varric said, "think about all the novels I have to finish."

She lifted an eyebrow.

"Actually, it's best that you come outside." Varric reached for her arm. "Just in case—"

" _Hawke."_

River froze.

She knew that voice. It had uttered battlecries at her side for years. Sighed her name in the dark. And the last time she'd heard her _last name_ spat by that same voice with such venom was…never.

It felt like it took a year just for her to turn around.

His armor had changed—it looked more suited for traveling now, much less spikes on the pauldrons and gauntlets—and his hair had lengthened a bit and picked up some waviness, but there was no mistaking Fenris even if she'd tried. She knew the map of iridescent lyrium lines all over his body without even looking. She knew the smooth, tanned skin beneath his armor. She knew the grassy-green eyes that pierced holes through her now.

"Fenris," she breathed.

He'd found her.

"Weeks, Hawke," he hissed, striding closer. She stood her ground; Fenris would never hurt her. "For _weeks_ I've been searching for you after you left nothing but _this_ for me." He reached into a pouch at his belt and all but ripped out a folded piece of paper.

Uh oh…

"What's that, Broody?" Varric asked. "A goodbye note?"

"I'd hardly consider such absurdity to be a proper goodbye note." Fenris dropped the folded note into Varric's already outstretched hand. "Read it, if you must. I know you're aching to, dwarf."

River herself was aching to fling herself into Fenris's arms, but Maker knew if he'd reciprocate her desperate hug right now. She blanched as Varric unfolded the note, crossing her arms tighter against her chest. The world seemed to have disappeared around the three of them, a blurred and uninteresting background to the white-haired elf standing with stiff shoulders just in front of her.

" _Dear Fenris,"_ Varric read. " _I'm sorry, but I have to go._ This is off to a decent start, Fenris."

"Keep going." Fenris's eyes were fixed on River, and hers on him. "You'll see what I mean in a moment."

" _I've run away with a baker from Val Royeaux,"_ Varric continued. " _I couldn't help myself. He has great buns."_ He snorted. "For crying out loud, Hawke."

Someone snickered behind her.

"Hey, I was proud of that pun," River tried, her shoulders slumping. "Fenris, you—"

"—were supposed to believe that?" Fenris said, his voice almost a growl. " _That_ would not be the Hawke I know."

_The one you love,_ River thought, her whole body nearly feverish. _The one who loves you like crazy._

"I _would_ go…" Varric started.

"That would be best, Varric," Fenris said, never looking away from River.

"…but this is bound to get juicy." The dwarf fell silent.

"Fenris, I'm _so_ sorry," River blurted out, the words coming out in a tumble. "Varric wrote to me that the Inquisition needed help with Corypheus and the missing Wardens, and since I'd been in contact with Warden Stroud, I… I panicked at the thought of you getting hurt and I thought that _maybe,_ if you thought I had turned into some shallow bitch and left you, that you wouldn't come after me and get yourself in danger…"

"How many times must I ask you not to keep me in the dark and shield me from pain?" The elven warrior's brows pulled together, and his jaw clenched tight for a moment. " _I thought I'd lost you,_ Hawke. Here you are joining the assault on Adamant, and _falling into the Fade,_ and not for a moment was I there to protect you."

_I thought I'd lost you._ River nearly melted into a puddle where she stood.

And not for one second had he thought her capable of ditching him for some hypothetical Orlesian baker and breaking up with just a paper and pen. Not because she was incapable of striking out on her own, but because he had too much faith in her character, too much trust in her heart. She could see it all plainly in his eyes, and it damn near killed her.

"I would've come back, Fenris," she said weakly.

"Would you?" His tone had mellowed, somewhat, but he hadn't calmed down. She knew him too well. With Fenris, anger and blind panic were always side by side, hand in hand. "Things don't always match your desires just because you will them to, Hawke."

He was right. She could've easily died in the Fade and never come home. It was an empty promise she'd made, and she hated herself for it.

She sighed sadly. "I only wanted to protect you."

"You stripped me of the chance to do the same for you."

She took a wobbly step forward, and Fenris eyed her splinted leg, as if he expected it to snap in two from her weight. His hands twitched at his sides. Ellie had done a flawless job at healing River's broken bones, but it was her breathlessness and fevered brain that did her in, made her trip and pitch forward with a yelp.

Fenris caught her.

She didn't just careen into him; he stepped forward with his arms outstretched to catch her, gauntleted hands reaching her waist and holding her steady. Before she could even catch a breath he was yanking her forward, crushing her into his arms and pressing his mouth to hers in a kiss that _ached_ with desperation.

She cupped his jaws with her hands, kissing him hungrily and fervently, and someone in the tavern cheered. _Varric_ whistled.

His arms were tight around her, so tight, but there was a distinct carefulness to them—Fenris was always aware of his strength, never trying to hurt her. When he detached his lips from hers, he cupped the back of her head with a hand and she pressed her face into his neck.

" _River_ ," he said softly; she'd missed hearing him speak her name. "Don't do that again. Don't go."

"Never." She whispered the promise, only for him. "I'll never leave you again."

And she'd move heaven and hell just to keep her promise.


	46. Wilderness Herself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Single-update this time; there's some important plot-y stuff in this one (super eloquent wording right there, I know :P) so I figured it should stand alone. Thanks for all the love, guys! :)

Slick, gritty mud squelched under Nanyehi's feet as she walked, squishing between her bare toes like a very persistent ooze. Rain gushed from the skies above, its drops so cold and thin they hit her like thousands of tiny needles all trying to burrow into her armor. She'd pulled her sopping dark red hair into a messy ponytail a few minutes ago, but attempting anything else to save her appearance was silly and futile.

_Welcome to the Fallow Mire,_ she thought dryly.

She hadn't seen any signs of the Avvar back at camp, and they'd left camp an hour ago. But her instincts told her they'd be close by. Those captured soldiers were counting on her, and the chieftain—or the chieftain's son, she wasn't completely clear on the details—demanded to see her in person.

" _Eeugh,"_ Sera complained, yanking her boot-clad foot out of a particularly deep spot of mud. Dank water splashed up onto her breeches. "Smells like shite."

That it did.

"I believe a plague swept through here," Cassandra said from Nani's side, shifting her shield into a more comfortable position on her shoulder. "Many of the dead did not make it to the pyres."

"It must have been a terrible illness," Solas added. "No one's come to reclaim the land. No one alive, that is."

Of those who were attempting to reclaim the Mire at the moment, all were rotting, peeling, undead monstrosities and none were overly concerned with rebuilding houses or setting up commerce—or anything other than eating passersby. Scout Harding had briefed Nani on the situation back at camp an hour ago, but she'd gotten most of her briefing from shooting down a few dozen corpses along the broken road after that.

The Fallow Mire might've been the gloomiest place Nani had ever seen—aside from the physical Beyond, of course. The whipping frenzy of the rain and wind made it hard to hear, but she knew her ears wouldn't fail her.

She glanced around her to make sure her companions were alright, squinting to see through the storm. Cassandra looked good to go at her side, and Sera was slightly behind them, Solas picking up the rear. She _thought_ she'd asked Cole to come along, but now she couldn't remember precisely when or if she'd asked him at all—she wasn't in tune with the spirit world enough to read him properly. At least Solas was here.

Honestly, she felt bad for dragging any of them here. Solas looked silently disgusted with the bogs around them, but she'd been desperate for a mage. With Finn leading his own team into Valammar—in the next day or so, she expected—he and Dorian were non-negotiable. It seemed like a crime to ask First-Enchanter Vivienne to accompany her to such a nasty area, so she'd refrained. And Warden Surana was back at Skyhold tending to the masses of soldiers who'd been injured at Adamant.

There'd been a few interesting runes along the way for him to study, scrawled on the sides of tall pillars throughout the Mire and shimmering to life when they felt the ghosting touch of veilfire, but that was really it as far as curiosities here. There wasn't much else; just a whole slew of shambling corpses, rain, and mud. An area ravaged and chewed up by a plague.

Oh, and the lightning strikes. One had nearly struck them a few minutes ago, and Nani still felt its latent electricity tingling along her skin and making the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end.

She idly thought that maybe bringing Solas and Sera on the same mission was a stupid idea—they tended to bicker about "elfy" things—but they were adults, damn it, and they could solve their interpersonal issues on their own. She gave it no more thought than that.

No, the majority of her musings centered around the Fallow Mire itself.

And these supposed Avvar that she hadn't seen any sign of, big or small.

Where _were_ they? From what Harding had briefed her on, the tribesmen weren't ones for sequestering themselves in some safe little hidey-hole and waiting with their knees knocking together for her to find them. The Avvar were fierce mountain people, tough as nails, skilled in battle—they should have been meeting her here on the old broken road.

Not that she necessarily desired a skirmish. But she liked predicting her enemies, knowing where they might appear and what they might do, and this was an unwelcome uncertainty.

"Are we certain the soldiers here didn't free themselves?" Nani asked. Wet pebbles skittered and crunched under her feet. "I'm not seeing any signs of… _anything._ "

"As certain as we could possibly be," Cassandra said.

Possibly the soldiers had attempted escape and been slaughtered immediately by the Avvar during a scuffle. But they'd only been a manipulation tactic. Ransom. Nani herself was what the Avvar wanted enough to come here. Had the soldiers met an untimely end, the Avvar should have still been here.

But there was nothing.

She lifted a hand—the non-Anchored one, she didn't necessarily want that thing right near her face—and shielded her eyes from the rain, straining to see through the downpour and the blinding lightning strikes.

Odd. On the road ahead, barely visible through the storm, were scattered glowing spots, like weak globes of white light. She couldn't see any form to them quite yet, just pockets of luminescence, but they were ahead of her in such a way that she was immediately certain they followed the road.

"What _is_ that?" she muttered, almost to herself.

Picking up a jog, she went forward, signaling Cassandra and Solas and Sera to follow. Under the curtain of rain she spotted the first glowing spot, illuminating the dark, prone form of what used to be an Avvar warrior.

At least, she was reasonably certain of her identification. He was still wearing shredded fur armor with black and white war paint, a sword with old, blackened bloodstains on its blade lying to his side. Upon approaching, it became immediately obvious what the glow had been; a long, jagged spike of ice nearly the size of a greatsword protruded from the dead warrior's gut, white ice-steam gassing off its crystalline surface.

Brutal. This hadn't been a clean killing. Blood spattered the ground under the warrior's body, and the flesh around the ice spike was a torn mess. Nani could see drag marks under his ashen hand where he'd probably gripped the mud beneath him.

"Solas," she said, motioning him forward, "what do you make of this?"

"What _is_ to make of it?" Sera repeated, crossing her arms. "Some mage went all ' _ooooh magic magic kill kill'_ out here. Let's _go."_

"It may not be so banal," Solas said in a dismissive tone, kneeling in front of the dead Avvar. He reached a hand for the ice spike, but stilled his fingers before they quite reached it. "There's something unusual about this magic."

"Meaning?" Nani asked.

"Speak plainly, Solas," Cassandra said.

"I will endeavor to put it into terms we can _all_ understand." Solas cast a withering look Sera's way before continuing. "A spike of ice isn't necessarily an unusual spell—as you would know, you see Finirial cast them all the time—but this…" He rocked forward on his knees a bit, peering at it. "Every mage has a sort of magical signature to their spells. A way the Fade responds to and remembers their touch. Whoever cast this spell must have been immensely powerful. The mage responsible barely used any energy to do it, barely warped the Fade at all, and yet the ice feels _alive."_

"You're certain?" Nani asked. She crouched next to him. It was easier to see the ice spike now, feel the biting cold radiating off it, see the clear blue fissures and veins within it. "Shouldn't this be melting?"

"You are observant," Solas said, looking pleased. "Even a mage's ice should be subject to the lawns of nature. All ice melts, unless the air around it is cold enough to allow it to retain its shape—but this holds its form without even a drip." His grey-blue eyes were fixed on the ice like a wolf's. "Fascinating."

"Creepy," Sera said. "At least they're getting rid of the Avvar, right? Right?"

"It looks like it." Nani peered down the rotted road past Cassandra, at the separated glows of white ice that almost looked like small lanterns along the path. " _Why,_ though, we don't know."

Something crossed her mind.

"Solas," she said, "this particular magical signature…does it feel like Finn's?"

Cassandra cast her a suspicious glance.

"Not quite, no." Solas stood in one graceful motion and shook his head. "Even Finirial's ice isn't quite like this, although it is often close. This is both wildly unstable, yet strong and nearly unbreakable at the same time. Absolutely intriguing."

The thought had briefly flickered through her head, but she'd had to ask; Finn was the only mage she knew of to whom ice responded in such a wild, enthusiastic manner. But if he'd wanted to be out here, he'd have come with her. And Solas was apparently certain it wasn't him. She could trust Solas's word.

"And dangerous," she added. She pushed to her feet and resumed a walk, and the others followed suit. "We don't have a clear picture of _why_ this mage is out here killing Avvar. Or why the mage is out here at _all."_

She couldn't imagine anyone _willingly_ being here. It was vastly unpleasant.

The morbid trail of scattered corpses and ice spikes led her along the road, and the storm followed her, a lashing of rain and wet, frigid wind all around her. She inwardly thanked Cullen for insisting she pad herself up with warm layers—and resolved to outwardly thank him when she got back to Skyhold.

The old road led her up to a brief water crossing, probably a couple feet deep, and Nani hesitated at it.

Water didn't scare her; she'd crossed creeks more times than she could count while out hunting. This was no creek, though. It was a stagnant, murky abyss of dark bog water, so clogged with dead weeds and mud that she couldn't even see an inch down. And Harding had warned her that a lot of the corpses had been spotted coming _out_ of the water.

She steeled herself and stepped one foot in the water, testing the bottom of it, before she walked through.

Something stirred the water beside her, and she thought it could've been a fish until skeletal hands shot through the water and clutched at her ankle and shin. She tried to jerk to the other side of the bank, but the damn corpse had a good hold on her; seeing no other way, she readied an arrow and shot it down into the water. The arrow sunk into it, and the splashing stopped. Grimacing, Nani yanked her foot out of its now loosened hold and lunged the remaining feet to the other dry side.

Cassandra, Solas, and Sera were watching her from the opposite side, all looking discomfited.

"Go quick," she urged, motioning. "Before another one floats our way."

Cassandra and Solas were the first to trudge through; Sera hesitated a moment before gingerly jogging through the water and joining them on the other side.

"I still see no signs of the Avvar here," Solas noted as they continued down the road.

"Aside from those," Cassandra said, motioning to another Avvar warrior with an ice spike embedded in his chest.

Nani pursed her lips, thinking, as she stepped around a rotted, broken crate lying in the middle of the road. Was it smart to head straight for wherever this mage had headed? Maybe not—but she owed those captured soldiers at least a quick check before running with her tail between her legs.

The road had thinned to nothing more than a dirt path through the short bog grass and slick black rocks, although there seemed to be something up ahead; Nani squinted again, but the rain kept whipping against her face and obscuring her vision. All she could tell was that it was a large, dark shape—a building? Likely.

And there was white ice-steam coming off it.

"This looks sketchy," she said, mostly to herself, as she picked up a jog. Only the noises of Cassandra's armor let her know the others were behind her. The path straightened and shot towards what was now _obviously_ a building—a castle of sorts—and she skidded to a stop.

"Shite," Sera said. "Somebody went all loony."

The castle, even though its dark stone walls still stood, looked like it had been hit by a vicious ice storm. Ice spikes as big as wyverns jutted out in clumps all over the front gates of it, and scattered around the road leading up to it were no less than twenty corpses, each impaled on ice spikes with their limbs askew like they'd been flung by the force. Thin sheets of gravelly frost clung to the ground around the gate, leading inside like a white welcome carpet. Except this was the opposite of a welcome.

The corpses were freshly killed, she noted as she stepped around them. Well…this time around, at least. One was still twitching. She kept going, passing through the path and stopping just before the gate.

"Take caution, Nanyehi," Cassandra said.

Just as Nani was about to respond, a thunderous _boom_ shook the ground beneath them, and a large piece of ice fractured off the tip of an ice spike and shattered on the wet dirt.

No lightning—that hadn't been thunder.

Whoever was doing this had to have their own motivation for it. She knew the Inquisition hadn't sent any mages out here to solo kill all these corpses and Avvar. Much as she secretly appreciated the mage's efforts, she didn't trust what he or she was doing out here in the Mire in the first place.

She narrowed her eyes and ran inside.

Cold air whipped past her, but she ignored it. The interior of the castle's grounds looked like someone had taken a glacier in giant hands, split it into jagged chunks and speared them all over the walls and ground. She ran under a raised walkway and through the second gate, icy dirt and grass crunching under her feet.

Her course took her up a set of stairs, then immediately a much longer one; she spread her arms a little to help her legs stabilize on the icy stone steps. She barely noted the ice-speared Avvar corpses littering the old castle grounds; everything was white, white ice, white war paint, white around the corners of her eyes…

Right before she reached the top of the stairs, another _boom_ shook the ground, and blinding white flashed in front of her from within the castle's crumbling, exposed interior. She heard chunks of rubble crash to the ground as she regained her footing and bolted the rest of the way inside.

Her eyes caught sight of a lone form standing in the middle of a stone hall, and Nani skidded to a stop.

It had to be a woman, from the smaller stature and the slender curve of the waist still visible underneath the thick padding of fur armor. Her back was to Nani, a thick braid of frost-white hair reaching nearly to her rear and swinging slightly like she'd just been moving. Her arms were relaxed at her sides, raw ice flickering on her hands.

Past the woman, lying on the ground only a few feet from her with ice spikes sticking out of him like giant pins, was a large Avvar in obvious chieftain's garb.

Nani held her breath, slowly drawing an arrow from her quiver.

" _Halig,_ Inquisitor," the woman said, turning.

Lightly tanned skin, golden-hued. Long, pointed ears—elven. A youthful, pretty face whose age Nani couldn't reliably judge. Big, slightly almond-shaped eyes, as blue as a glacier.

But no _vallaslin._ Not Dalish. And that hadn't been an elvish greeting.

Nani was about to spit out the first of her questions—if she could word it without immediately sounding hostile, but the woman was already talking. "I assume you won't mind my intervention here? This chieftain's son was on a trophy hunt for your head. He disgraced his clan with his bloodlust. The Avvar are not often so needlessly hostile, Inquisitor."

"How do you know this?" Nani said, her eyes narrowing. This woman couldn't have been Avvar; the Avvar were Alamarri, and the Alamarri were human tribes.

The woman smiled. "I know a lot more than you'd think. Which is convenient, really. For me."

Solas reached them, stopping at Nani's side with barely labored breathing even though he'd just run up a whole lot of stairs; Sera joined them only a second later. Nani could hear Cassandra reaching the last steps.

"Identify yourself," Nani said. "I need to know who you are."

The woman walked nimbly past her, an almost mischievous smirk tweaking her mouth, her long white braid swinging with her stride. "Do you?"

Nani reached a hand out—to stop her, grab her, who really knew, she'd just done it—but a sizzle of magic made her jerk the hand away. The woman had disappeared in the span of a heartbeat, a pristine white falcon giving its wings one heavy flap and coasting through the air away from them until it was nothing but a pale speck amidst the storm.

She almost felt numb.

"Solas—" she started.

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Nanyehi," he said, mildly. "I do not have the answers for everything."

There was a flash of metal at the ground where the woman had been standing; Nani strode forward to stoop and pick it up. It was a rusted key, flakes of ice sticking to its surface. She moved it around between her fingers, silently studying it.

The mage must have dropped it. Belatedly, Nani remembered the soldiers they'd come here to rescue, and she swore under her breath for forgetting them before she set off deeper into the chamber to find them.

They weren't hard to find—she could hear someone pounding on a door from the inside out long before she spotted the door. She jogged up to the room at the side of the chamber and fitted the key into the lock. It stuck a little, but she jiggled it and managed to force it; with a loud click, the lock slid and she pushed the door open.

"Inquisitor!" one of the soldiers greeted. There must have been a dozen here, a few of them on the ground and nursing hastily bandaged wounds. "Seeker Pentaghast! Praise the Maker, you came for us."

"Have you been badly harmed?" Nani asked, scanning the room to make sure there were no dead inside. Hopefully all the injuries could withstand the journey back to Skyhold.

"Some injuries, nothing too major," another soldier said, this one with a reddish brown beard and squinty eyes.

"We should help them back to camp," Cassandra said, slinging her arm under one of the injured soldiers and helping her stand.

Nani hesitated.

"I want to look around for a moment," she said, backing out the door. "Go on ahead. I'll meet you back at camp."

Cassandra's brows furrowed. "You're certain?"

"I will remain with her, Seeker, if it's her safety you fear for," Solas promised.

That seemed to satisfy Cassandra, who set about helping the dozen or so soldiers out the door; Nani briefly signaled Sera to guard the group with her bow, then left them and returned to the center of the chamber.

She wasn't sure if she just wanted to study the ice for a little bit—not that it would do her much good, although Solas could probably figure something out if he wanted—but she was past being surprised when Cole appeared at her side, the wide brim of his hat obscuring his face.

"Where've you been, Cole?" she asked.

He peered around at the ice curiously before answering. "I watch you, Inquisitor. You don't see me, but I see everything. You don't know how often you get a wrinkle between your brows. It changes your face."

Solas looked at Nani's forehead, and she scrubbed a thumb between her eyebrows, trying to manually unfurrow them.

"Were you watching what just happened?" she asked. "With the…?" _Mage. Witch. Whatever that woman was._

"Cold, so cold," he said, rocking back and forth on his feet a little, wringing his hands together. "Warmer now that she watches the Inquisition. Tracks it like a wolf. She wants something from you. But you don't always have it."

That wasn't eerie at all…

Nani stood silently for a second, then went for the most obvious question: "Can you tell who she was?" _Are her features just a coincidence?_

Cole stared straight at her, his eyes bright and piercing. "Someone who will find us again."


	47. Old Scars and New Ones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! More stuff at the bottom. :)

Finn could tell Dorian was stalling; he just couldn't quite figure out why.

Why else would they be sitting on a low wall in Redcliffe Village next to an arbitrary wooden house, making small talk and marveling about the weather? It _was_ nice weather, he'd grant him that—the air was crisp, clean, the sun pleasant on his face, the breeze stirring up scents of oak and green apples. The grass was soft under his feet, and he found himself relaxed by the hum of people talking around him, villagers passing by with baskets of produce and buckets of well water.

They'd come here a couple days ahead of Varric and the others, for "personal business"; Dorian hadn't quite shared what said personal business was. Never mind that they'd been doing absolutely nothing around Redcliffe for those two days, and the others were bound to arrive in a few hours.

"Dorian," Finn said, adjusting his seat on the stone wall, "couldn't we be wasting time with _drinks_ instead? Let's go to the tavern."

"Not quite yet." Dorian shook his head. He looked on edge. "Give me a few more minutes before we head in."

Finn leaned his head against Dorian's shoulder. "What could possibly be scary about Redcliffe's tavern?" he teased. "Is their wine too shitty? Should their windows not have sad peasant dirt collecting in the corners? Does the quaint, homey atmosphere offend your delicate sense of nobility?"

Dorian laughed lightly. "All of the above. But, no—I have other reasons for not wanting to head in quite yet." He reached into his pocket and drew out a folded square of paper. It was a clean and crisp white, with a fancy red border along the top—clearly it used to look more official until Dorian had folded it into smithereens. "I suppose I should actually inform you of them."

"That would be peachy," Finn said, straightening up.

Contrary to Finn's prediction, Dorian didn't actually unfold the paper; he just turned it around in his tanned hands, glancing down at it and back up at Redcliffe's scenery every few seconds. "If my father's incredibly presumptuous letter is to be believed, he's sent a 'family retainer' to wait for me at the Gull and Lantern. According to Nanyehi, he wrote this to Mother Giselle, who passed the letter on to your sister with the specific instructions to never inform me of the plans."

"That's both needlessly roundabout _and_ shifty," Finn commented.

"Almost makes me homesick." Dorian shot Finn his signature crooked grin, then hopped off the wall and stood. "Off we go, then. Let's meet this so-called family retainer. One can only sit around and accomplish nothing for so long."

"Just when I thought my joints would finally lock up and fossilize," Finn ribbed him, standing and giving his shoulder a tap with his knuckles. "Would you rather I waited somewhere for you? I've got two days worth of ale-chugging to catch up on."

"No, no, no, I'm almost certain I'll have need of you," Dorian said, giving Finn a nudge along the path towards the tavern. "I'm willing to bet this 'retainer' is a henchman hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter."

Finn thanked the gods, not for the first time, that his legs were proportionally long for his height; he didn't have to stretch his stride too much to keep up with Dorian's walk. "You'd think there'd be more effective methods of getting you back to Tevinter. Tempting you with fancy tailoring, maybe."

"And what if I said I've gotten accustomed to roughspun cotton with chew-holes in it?" Dorian smirked and jogged up the stone steps to the tavern.

"I'd say you're full of hot air," Finn said. "Emphasis on hot."

"Not the worst thing I've been accused of." Dorian stopped outside the tavern, turning to look down at Finn. "Want to make bets on if it's a henchman or not?"

"Hmm…" Finn tapped his foot on the ground. "If it's something other than a henchman, you owe me an ale. If it _is_ though, all bets aside—you got a plan?"

"We escape and kill everyone," Dorian said almost cheerfully, as if he hadn't slipped _kill everyone_ into a sentence. "You're good at that."

"How gauche," Finn said.

Dorian snorted, resting his hand briefly on the door handle. "Again, Finn, if you're trying to play the part of the victimized, uneducated backwoods elf, you might want to erase the more elaborate terms from your vocabulary."

"Fuck that."

" _There's_ the sailor mouth." Dorian shook his head fondly, then opened the door and slipped inside, holding it open for Finn to join him.

His eyes adjusted quickly to the dim interior, and he furrowed his brows.

An empty tavern wasn't something one encountered terribly often. Usually an empty tavern meant the drinks were so atrocious that even the most addicted of villagers avoided the place. That, or everyone who'd been inside was now dead and shoved behind the bar counter. Neither seemed likely at this point. Finn curiously took in the vacant wooden tables, the rough wooden bar counter that must've been wiped clean recently, the freshly swept floors.

"Uh oh, nobody's here," Dorian said, voicing Finn's inner suspicions. "This doesn't bode well."

"Everyone in here is dead," Finn said in a hushed voice. "Two silvers."

" _Three_ silvers on the dissenting opinion," Dorian insisted. "I'm rather confident it's just…vacant."

"Any bets on a secret ritual going on upstairs?" Finn asked. "No, scratch that. _Orgy."_

Dorian snorted. "Yes, Finn. Instead of a family retainer, we're meant to encounter a fierce, drunken bacchanal." His grey eyes narrowed as he looked about the bar. "I don't hear anything. I'd say my bet _isn't_ on—"

"Dorian."

Finn and Dorian both flinched at nearly the same time, swiveling to face the source of the voice.

The man was Tevene, no doubt about it—those brown, gold and green leather robes _screamed_ Northern nobility. But the deeply tanned skin, the thick black hair…Finn took in his features and wondered suspiciously if his resemblance to Dorian was only mere coincidence.

"Father," Dorian said, his voice both snappish and resigned at the same time.

Well, that answered that.

Finn watched Dorian cross his arms over his chest and lean his weight on one hip. "So the whole story about the family retainer was just…what? A smoke screen?"

"Then you were told." Magister Pavus clasped his hands together and strode closer, his eyes settling on Finn. "I apologize for the deception, Lord Lavellan. I never intended for you or the Inquisitor to be involved."

So he knew who they both were. Word traveled far.

"Don't be sorry," Finn said, shaking his head. "I thought we were just sightseeing around Redcliffe until about a minute ago. Have you seen that one patch of grass by the docks that's next to the other patch of grass? It's _breathtaking._ "

Dorian shot Finn a look, then aimed a sharp gaze at his father. "Of course you didn't," he said. "Magister Pavus couldn't come to Skyhold and be seen with the savage elven Inquisitor. What would people _think?"_ He took a step forward. "What _is_ this exactly, Father? Ambush? Kidnapping? _Warm family reunion_?"

If this was what a warm family reunion looked like in Tevinter, Finn dreaded to think of what the others looked like.

Magister Pavus sighed heavily. "This is how it has always been."

From what Finn knew, Dorian had left Tevinter on bad terms. Still, he had no solid idea of what had gone awry between him and his father, and it seemed like the two of them might as well get to talking since they were already here. "With all due respect, Magister Pavus," Finn said, "if you engineered this whole thing to get Dorian out here, I'd imagine you have something to say."

"Yes, Father," Dorian sneered. "Talk to me. Let me hear how mystified you are by my anger."

Finn had never quite heard Dorian so… _hostile._

"Dorian," the Magister cautioned, there's no need to—"

"There's no need to, what, drop any proverbial bombs?" Dorian's arms crossed even tighter. "Finn already knows _precisely_ what you think you were stopping me from saying. Did you think to shield his poor ears from your son's scandalous inclinations? Or were you hoping I wasn't about to embarrass you? Maker forbid our family's atrocities get out to the entire Inquisition."

"I should have known about this." Magister Pavus looked pointedly at Finn. "The rumors alone—"

" _No,"_ Dorian snapped, stepping sideways so he was ever so slightly in front of Finn. "Do _not_ drag him into this. Whatever dreadful rumors Tevinter has cooked up can _remain_ in Tevinter."

But weren't those rumors true? If Finn was reading the situation correctly, that is. Finn and Dorian _were_ sleeping together, and much more than that. Just about all of the Inquisition knew that by now. Finn didn't necessarily care anymore what people were saying about him—so long as he didn't have to know any unsavory details.

The conversation must have derailed, based on the Magister's dissatisfied look. "This is not what I wanted—"

"—I'm _never_ what you wanted, Father. Or had you forgotten?"

"Dorian, _please."_ The Magister's voice might've actually cracked there. "If you'd only listen to me—"

"— _Why_? So you can spout more convenient lies? _He_ taught me to hate blood magic. _The resort of the weak mind._ Those were _his_ words." He flickered his gaze at Finn as he spoke, then fixed it on his father once more, pacing halfway across the room. "But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life?"

"Dorian—"

" _You tried to change me!"_ Dorian sounded like he'd been trying to yell the words, but his voice cracked instead.

Change? What sort of change? Finn's temper flared even though he wasn't a hundred percent certain of the meaning of the words. Ice formed around his hands, cold and snapping; he hid his arms behind his back and bit down on his tongue.

No overreactions yet. This wasn't his conversation.

"I only wanted what was best for you," Magister Pavus said, his voice suddenly rough and scratchy.

_What's best for you._ That sounded a whole lot like _I only wanted what I would approve of for you._ Finn didn't know the ins and outs of Tevene society—and likely never would, unless he took quite some time to study it—but "best for Dorian" was probably not best for Dorian.

"You wanted what was best for _you,"_ Dorian spat, rocking on his feet towards his father and whipping his hand up in an angry gesture. "For your _fucking legacy._ Anything for that!"

Even if Dorian hadn't said a damn thing, his pain would've seeped right into Finn's bones regardless; he was hurting. Badly. Finn's legs moved without him asking them to, putting him between the two men just as Magister Pavus started to move forward.

"Is there a reason we're here?" Finn asked. He tried to keep his tone mild—provoking a magister wasn't on his list of fun things to do in Redcliffe. Lackluster mages didn't typically become magisters. Chances were Dorian's father could kill him with a thought alone, just as Dorian could, and even though the man didn't seem hostile, Finn wasn't keen on galvanizing anything. "Or can we say our goodbyes?"

"I'd rather we left, thank you very much," Dorian said pointedly from behind Finn, his tone sharp.

"Dorian—" Magister Pavus started, something that looked like hurt twisting his features.

" _His_ terms," Finn said firmly, holding a hand out with his palm forward.

Dorian sighed once, then his boots scuffed against the wooden floors.

Leaving, it seemed.

Finn spared Dorian's father a last fleeting glance and followed Dorian out of the tavern, jogging to keep up; the taller mage could really lengthen his stride when he wanted to. Scratch his previous thoughts—long as Finn's legs were, they weren't much help right now.

"Dorian, where are you going?" he asked as Dorian veered left and started down a path, brushing narrowly past a village girl carrying a basket of lemons.

"I don't bloody know," Dorian snapped. "Must I know _everything_ at all times? Are you perhaps going to burden me with another preconceived notion?"

" _Hey!"_ Finn grabbed his arm. "What did I ever do to you?"

Dorian sighed heavily, halting in the middle of the path. "Nothing to deserve _that._ You're right. That was unworthy and you have my apologies."

Finn let go and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if trying to knead away the tension he was feeling between his eyes. "I know you're upset."

"That's an understatement."

"But I don't know exactly _why."_ Finn dropped his hand. "You could tell me, you know."

"I could," Dorian said.

Finn let out a long exhale. "Don't you want to talk about it?"

"Later, potentially," Dorian said. "At the moment, no, not particularly."

"You should." Finn crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest. "It's good to get things _out_ when they're hurting you. It's cathartic. And I promise I won't say a word unless you want me to."

" _Finn,"_ Dorian scolded, his grey eyes narrowing just a touch. "If you don't mind, I would much rather be left alone."

"But—"

"Oh? Yes? You have an expedition to lead in a matter of minutes, and I imagine your sister will be reasonably cross with you if she finds out you abandoned your own mission in favor of mucking about Redcliffe." His tone said he wasn't going to compromise. "Go on. Shoo. Off with you. I might be more amenable to your forms of catharsis when you return."

Finn opened his mouth, but—for once in his life—nothing came out. Dorian was right; he couldn't ditch the others at Valammar when his responsibility was to lead them through it.

He swallowed, stiffened his shoulders, turned, and walked down the path alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: So, a couple of you guys have found the ffnet version of this fic recently. I think I mentioned something in the very beginning notes, but I wanted to make another note of it - the version on ffnet had been running for a full year before I was convinced to put it up here as well, so it's several chapters further along than this one. So! For those of you who like both sites and would rather read ahead, there's more content over there!
> 
> Or, for those of you who usually prefer to read on AO3, and would rather go on a chapter-by-chapter basis rather than bingeing, I will continue to update in a timely fashion as I try my hardest to catch up. I would super appreciate the feedback on here, but if you hop over to ffnet, feedback is also very loved over there.


	48. Seeing Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks and hugs to you guys for all your comments and love!

Varric and the others must have hauled arse out of Skyhold, Finn thought; they were early. He could spot them milling around Valammar's entrance as he approached.

The entrance sat at the end of a pathway that cut into the mountainside above Lake Luthias, and the rocks at the edge of the path were stepped, a couple of them looking wobbly. Luckily, Finn wasn't afraid of heights. Lake Luthias was a serene blue below him, lapping lazily against its grassy banks, bits of sunlight glinting gold on the occasional ripple of water. A stray pebble skittered under Finn's foot as he ducked to cross under a thin stream of falling water; this one was an offshoot of a larger waterfall up ahead, it looked like.

He didn't know anything about what the inside of Valammar looked like—or any of the Deep Roads, for that matter—but at least the outside was pretty. Sour as he was from being booted out of Dorian's company for the day and made to trek clear across the Hinterlands alone, he could at least appreciate the scenery.

Had he done the right thing, though? Maybe he shouldn't have left. Maybe he should've fought harder, _made it_ be okay by force of will alone—Finn hated when things were out of his hands.

But Dorian had wanted him to go, for the moment. And when he got back, he'd make it better. Finn had lost enough in his life to the decisions of others; he wouldn't lose Dorian.

It was just a bump in the road. It _had to be._

"Frosty!" Varric called in greeting, getting up from the log he'd been sitting on. He walked towards Finn and met him halfway, gripping his arm as a sort of hello, and Finn affectionately clapped him on the shoulder. "No Sparkler?"

"Dorian had some personal business to finish up with," Finn said, looking around at the others.

Blackwall was there, quiet and statuesque as he looked out over Lake Luthias and the lush green Hinterlands around it. He almost appeared like he saw something secret below them, something no one else could, and he was serenely contemplating that. Whatever the case, Finn wouldn't disturb him. He'd learned his lesson from pestering Blackwall about the Wardens the last time—kind of. He was _still_ really curious. But Shesi Mahariel was here as well, and she seemed open to answering questions, no matter how insipid.

Shesi was cross-legged in the dirt, rummaging through her pack; Finn watched her pull out a canteen and take a long sip. "Afternoon, Finn," she greeted when she slipped the canteen back into the pack, standing and slinging it over her shoulder. "We just got here, too. Cleared out some Carta douchebags at the mouth of the cave. You're welcome."

"No Zevran?" Finn asked, if only because Shesi and Zevran were usually fused at the hip and never seen apart. "Or Jinx."

Shesi shook her head, her shoulder-length brown hair swinging. "He's working with Leliana at the moment. I think the Crows made us some sort of offer—I don't know, I wasn't paying that much attention. As far as Jinx, I've got him guarding Ellie at the moment. I thought I'd had her death on my hands at Adamant, and I'm _not_ doing that again."

"That's not nearly romantic or heartbroken enough to go in my book, Twiggy," Varric said with a mock sigh of injustice. He must've been listening in for gossip when Shesi had answered Finn about Zevran.

Shesi gave him a crooked grin. "Fine. I'm dying without him. I can feel my very soul failing as we speak. It won't be much longer now. It's not like I'll see him right when we get back to Skyhold. I can't suffer through another minute. Help me, Varric. You're my only hope."

"Now _that_ was just ridiculous," Varric said.

"More so than the rest of your books?" Shesi teased. "I _have_ read them. You don't necessarily want to know what Zevran and I have _done_ with the books, but—"

" _Twiggy._ You better not have defiled my masterpieces."

"Hence why you don't want to know." Shesi glanced out over the lake, her jade eyes softening. "It's only for a few days. I'll be home soon enough."

The way she said it…she hadn't been talking about Skyhold when she said _home._

Varric snickered. "That'll make the readers swoon."

"You're going to warp everything I said, aren't you?"

"But of course."

Finn smiled fondly, stepping closer to Valammar's mouth. Two stoic dwarven statues flanked the entrance, strong and monolithic in their sharp carved lines. He took a moment to study them before a flash of white caught his attention.

"Hey, Finn!" River Hawke greeted, coming out of the entrance. Her leg seemed to have mended pretty well, and she was walking fine, but there was a longbow strapped to her back; clearly she didn't want to do any hand-to-hand combat.

"Good to see you," he said with a smile; she hadn't been the flash of white he'd seen—her skin wasn't _that_ pale—and he looked past her as someone else stepped up behind her.

It was like looking into a hot, muscular mirror. The elf in front of him had identical white hair, although straighter and sleeker, and a similar golden-toned tan. He was dressed in warrior's armor in monochromatic tints of black and grey, and a massive greatsword was strapped to his back. It almost seemed taller than him, but he didn't seem to be buckling under the weight of it. He seemed to be taller than Finn by a few inches, and his eyes were leaf-green rather than Finn's icy blue…but the resemblance verged on uncanny.

He couldn't quite decipher if the smooth white lines across the other elf's skin were _vallaslin_ or not, but he knew better than to speak to him with a Dalish greeting; he'd met enough elves with a burning hatred of the Dalish, these days.

"Fenris, love, this is Finn," River said, taking Fenris's hand in hers. Finn noticed he squeezed it and laced their fingers together. "Finn, Fenris."

"This is mildly bizarre," Finn said.

"I share the sentiment," Fenris said.

"So my two favorite white-haired elves have finally met," Varric said, joining them and holdings his arms wide with a big grin stretched across his face. "So? Thoughts? The more dramatic the better, folks."

"Mage, I see," Fenris noted; his eyes narrowed just a touch, then relaxed again. River squeezed his hand.

"Mage who thinks he's a warrior, I'd say." Finn chuckled.

Fenris nodded once, like he approved of that.

"Oh, come on." Varric snapped his fingers twice. "I expected more angst from you, Broody. Step it up. And Frosty, be sillier. Say something stupid and mage-y. I need you two to live up to your book personas."

Finn rolled his eyes affectionately. "Let me guess—I'm the token idiot."

"I seem to have landed the esteemed position of the token angry one who growls _burn all mages_ at arbitrary times and glares at children," Fenris said dryly.

"Not undeservedly," Varric said in defense.

"Don't worry," River said, turning her head to nuzzle her cheek against Fenris's hair—they were exactly the same height, Finn noted. "If I know Varric, he's already assigned everyone to roles that may or may not fit them even if he's already known them for— _ahem—_ several years."

"Bitter about being the kooky and inappropriate one, Hawke?"

"Always."

It was time to get going, probably; Finn saw Blackwall shift restlessly on his feet, then turn to join them.

"Alright!" Finn said, whistling to draw everyone's attention and wave them into a semicircle so he could talk to all of them at once. Shesi joined them quietly, standing at Fenris's other side. "Because we're heading into the Deep Roads, we should all be reasonably prepared to fight darkspawn. Who _hasn't_ fought one before?"

No one raised a hand.

"Hawke and Broody were both with me when my brother Bartrand and I discovered that lost thaig and made a fortune," Varric explained, inspecting his fingers. "So all three of us have been there and done that. And we've got two Wardens with us, too."

Finn nodded, pleased. Every single one of them had fought darkspawn before, in some way or another. "Shesi, Blackwall, I assume you'll have extra knowledge about them."

"Aye, as much as one _can,"_ Blackwall said. "They're tricky, twisted creatures and they're not easy to predict."

"I can tell you exactly how many are in each group, where they're coming from, and how far away they are," Shesi said, glancing at Blackwall.

Well, those were oddly different answers. Finn lifted an eyebrow.

"Being surrounded by them during the Blight will do that to you," Blackwall said.

"Amongst many other things," Shesi said, turning her attention back to Finn.

"Varric," Finn said, "your contact, Bianca—the _dwarf—_ is she here?"

"She's probably waiting ass-deep in that creepy cave even though absolutely no one told her to," Varric answered, reaching back to pat Bianca the crossbow. "She gets impatient like that."

Best not to try her patience, then. Finn hadn't actually met Bianca—Nani had—but if the woman knew something about stopping the flow of red lyrium from out of this cavern, then the Inquisition couldn't afford to squander this.

"Blackwall, I want you on rear guard unless we get into a fight," he said, signaling. "Shesi, next to me. River, Fenris, Varric, your positions are up to you."

"I like the sound of _positions,"_ River said. "And rear guard."

Fenris sighed.

Finn snickered, waited for Shesi to step up to his side, then led the way into Valammar.

A cool wash of cavern air hit him the moment he stepped past the two dwarven statues flanking the entrance. Droplets of mineral water splashed onto his armor from the stones above, but he didn't bother brushing them off; no reason to.

"Who's…?" Shesi said, slowing and grabbing Finn's elbow.

Someone stepped out of the shadows from under a ledge of the cavern wall, and Finn had to stop himself from startling like a spooked horse. But it was just a dwarven woman in leather armor with a hood covering her head; just as they'd been expecting, pretty much.

"Andraste's ass, Bianca, where'd you come from?" Varric said gruffly.

"Well, Varric," Finn said, resting his hands on his hips, "when a man and a woman love each other very much—"

Varric and Shesi snorted at the same time; River made a noise that was sort of a bizarre hybrid between a giggle and a cackle.

"Took you all long enough to show up," Bianca said, flickering her brown eyes from Varric to Finn. "So the Inquisitor's away, eh? Shouldn't matter for what we're doing here. I've waited a while, so let's make this quick—these idiots are carrying the red lyrium out in unprotected containers. We don't want to stick around long enough for it to start _talking_ to us."

"Unless we're really lonely?" River said.

"Hawke," Bianca greeted, turning. "It's nice to actually meet you in person. Heard about the mess in Kirkwall."

"Ah, yes," River said. "The magical mishap. The arcane accident. The dubious debacle. The explosive extravaganza. The incendiary incident."

Bianca let out a sharp breath of a laugh. "You're exactly like Varric described you."

"You don't know the half of it," said Fenris.

"So, Bianca…" River shifted onto one hip, glancing briefly at Fenris. "Before I grill you about Varric within an inch of your life—metaphorically speaking, of course—give me a bit more to go on about this red lyrium. Could it _potentially_ affect Fenris's lyrium lines?"

Lyrium lines? Was _that_ what had been drawn on his skin? Finn's eyes widened just a touch.

"Doubt it," Bianca said. " _None_ of us should be touching it, anyway. Lyrium is incredibly dangerous in its raw form." She looked at Finn and gestured deeper into the cavern. "We shouldn't wait around any longer. Shall we?"

"We're all ready," Finn promised. "Take us through."

Bianca led the way deeper into the cavern, and Finn looked up as they cleared the narrow passage that led inside.

It was unexpectedly lovely in here. Sunlight filtered through the trees on the cliffs above, beaming down into the cavern in soft golden shafts; plants clung to the rocks above and all around them, ferns as green as jewels. A waterfall's thin stream plunged down from above them, rushing deep into the cavern's depths below them.

"Not all the Deep Roads look like this, right?" Finn asked. "This is beautiful."

"Nah," Bianca said, "you're not seeing the real deal here. This is pretty close to the surface."

"It's hard to describe how disconcerting the truly _deep_ ones are," Shesi said from next to Finn, barely making any noise with how quietly she treaded. "It's like the ground swallowed you up and you're stuck deep in Thedas's bowels."

"Darkspawn, constant cave-ins…" River said. "Absolutely offensive."

"Blackwall," Shesi said pointedly, "what do _you_ think of the Deep Roads?"

The older Warden cleared his throat as they stepped onto a sturdily built stone bridge. "It's been a while," he said. "I remember missing the surface."

"Hmm," Shesi said.

Finn quirked a brow, but said nothing. He could've been imagining whatever Shesi might be trying to accomplish. He didn't really know.

"Carta ahead," Varric said. "Everyone ready for a fight?"

"Always," Finn said.

***

Apparently there was a lot more to Bianca than met the eye.

The fact that she'd apparently been in Valammar often enough to build doors and renovate the caves was surprising enough. From listening to their conversations, Finn gathered that while Bianca was a surface dwarf, she'd still done quite many explorations of the Deep Roads. She was also a brilliant smith, apparently.

River, of course, had been the one asking most of these questions.

"Did you build your namesake?" had been one of them, an obvious inquiry about Bianca the crossbow. "Why haven't we ever met before?" had been another. Also amongst them were "how long have you known Varric?" and "does Varric have any secret children I can track down?"

Varric must not have told her any of these things. From her mostly evasive answers, Bianca wasn't willing to tell her, either.

If anything, Bianca's knowledge of these caverns was a blessing and a half. From what Varric said, it could be easy to get lost in the Deep Roads if you weren't paying attention; darkspawn and deepstalkers and other fun creepy-crawlies had dug enough offshoots and spurs to make the formerly straight roads a maze.

Having Fenris around was an unexpected advantage as well. The elf was an absolute unholy terror in battle, the lyrium lines on his skin glowing blue-white, his greatsword swinging in massive arcs. He stuck close to where he knew River was, too, making it significantly easier for Finn to draw his own small crowd and take them out without worrying.

There'd been a few darkspawn along the way; nothing crazy. From what Finn had heard of the Deep Roads, they'd run into good luck here.

Well…he wasn't sure running into several Carta members in the chamber Bianca led them to counted as being "good luck." Probably not. But after facing off against truly terrifying demons and monsters and other sorts of things, some Carta thugs and one random Warden mage wasn't really a noteworthy fight.

_Have I turned into a battle snob?_ Finn wondered as he tried to brush some still-wet blood off the front of his armor. _Oh, dear me, this fight didn't invigorate my senses and cleanse my pallet. I shall require a more thrilling duel posthaste. Tally-ho._

Shit, the fake snob-voice in his head had started to sound like Dorian.

And that just made Finn ache to see him again.

"There you are!" Bianca was saying, jolting him out of his bizarre reverie. He watched the dwarf walk briskly through the chamber, looking even smaller beneath the strong dwarven-made stonework and metalwork of the walls. She found a stack of wooden crates against a wall, a large book lying open on top of one, and plucked something metallic off the book—a key. "They won't be able to use this entrance again."

"Bianca…" Varric's voice was gruffer than usual.

The gears turned in Finn's head.

"Fuck's sake," Shesi said, "looks like we solved the inexplicable mystery of who leaked the lyrium location."

Well, shit.

"This just got so much more juicy," River said, crossing her arms disapprovingly. "And not the good kind of juicy."

"I'll admit I sometimes wonder about your sanity, Hawke," Fenris said, turning his head to briefly cast River a soft look. She only shrugged in response.

Bianca turned around to face them all, her brows furrowing. "When Varric wrote me the location, I had to take a look around. And I found the red lyrium and I…studied it."

"You know what it does to people!" Varric snapped.

"Did Varric not tell you about Knight-Commander Meredith?" River said. "She went full loony. Cackled like a madwoman, stared intently at her lyrium-greatsword like it was actually a naked Antivan man with a fantastic ass, awakened giant bronze statues to stomp us, and turned into a lovely red statue for all to see. You can't tell me you're into that stuff."

"I hear being cast in red lyrium does wonders for your figure," Finn said.

Shesi snorted.

"Varric, I was doing you a favor," Bianca shot back. "This is the same stuff that drove Bartrand insane. I wanted to figure it out. And it doesn't hurt you if you're careful and you study it in small doses."

Varric grunted his displeasure.

"Did you?" Finn asked. "Figure it out, that is."

"One would hope," Blackwall said.

"Actually…yes," Bianca replied. "Red lyrium…it has the _Blight,_ Varric!" She turned imploring eyes to her fellow dwarf. "Do you know what this means?"

"It means our lives suck," Shesi said.

"It means I'm about to hide in a cabinet, lock the door, and never come out again for as long as I live," River said.

"It means that two deadly things combine to form something super-awful?" Varric said with an angry hand-wave.

Finn cleared his throat. "Am I the _only_ one who would like an actual explanation?"

Apparently, Bianca decided to indulge Finn, if her turning to face him was any indication. "Lyrium is alive! Or…something like it. Blight doesn't infect minerals. Only _animals._ I couldn't get any further on my own, so I looked for a Grey Warden mage. Blight and magical expertise in one, right?"

"I take it you didn't approach Corvis," Shesi mused aloud. "Although he would've liked researching it. He loves the Deep Roads, for some insane reason."

Bianca shook her head. "No, I didn't go to the Warden-Commander—I found this guy, Larius. He seemed really interested in helping my research. So, I…gave him a key…"

"Larius?" Varric repeated. "He was the—"

"The Warden guy who was there when we found Corypheus," River butted in. Her expression turned acidic. "Maker's gilded panties. The bastard wasn't a mage, last I checked."

" _Shit,"_ Varric growled. "I knew something seemed off."

"I take it this Larius guy wasn't actually _Larius_ ," Finn said.

Bianca nodded, her brows knitting together. "I didn't realize until Varric said you found red lyrium at Haven. I came here and…well…then I went to you."

_Good thing Nani isn't here,_ Finn mused. Her temper was gradually leveling out, true, but he couldn't predict how she'd react if she'd caught the unwitting informant herself. Red lyrium had caused enough trouble in their lives.

"So you thought the Inquisitor would fix your mistake and you'd just scurry off blame-free," River snapped.

Finn had never quite heard her sound so ferocious. Then again, he'd heard enough to know red lyrium had been a major issue in Kirkwall, had just about torn apart the city that Hawke and Varric and their friends had struggled so hard to repair. Obviously, this was personal.

Bianca looked unwaveringly up at River. "I had to help somehow!"

This was getting nasty fast.

"I told you exactly how bad this shit was," Varric growled at Bianca, apparently siding with River—big surprise there. "I told you to keep away from it!"

"You—" River started.

"She already knows she screwed up, Riv," Shesi said calmly.

"We _did_ fix it," Bianca insisted. "It's as right as I can make it!"

"This isn't one of your machines!" Varric looked about ready to morph into a walking bomb and decimate half of the Hinterlands. "You can't just replace a part and make everything right!"

"No, but I can _try,_ can't I?"

"If—" Finn tried to cut in.

Bianca wasn't done. "Or am I supposed to wallow in my mistakes forever, kicking myself, telling stories of what I should've done?"

"That's—" Finn tried again.

" _Ha!"_ Varric interjected, a sort of sharp, bitter laugh. "As if I would tell stories about my own mistakes!"

" _EITHER_ _SHUT UP OR GET A ROOM!"_ River yelled.

Everyone fell eerily silent. Finn swore even the carved stones around them held their breaths, metaphorically speaking. Maybe even the waterfalls ceased their flowing; he couldn't really hear, with the sudden ringing of sharp silence in his ears. Fenris was the only one who didn't look startled by River's outburst; maybe he'd seen it coming.

"Sorry Varric. Thank you," River said in a fakely chipper voice, crossing her arms tight.

"This isn't _fixed,"_ Shesi said, shaking her head sternly. "That red lyrium is _everywhere._ They're growing it all the way across Orlais _and_ in the west of Ferelden. People are turned into sacrifices every day so red lyrium can grow out of their bodies and consume them whole. All we've done is toss a pebble at a waterfall as if that will plug up the stream."

Bianca thinned her lips.

"I'll make a note to Nani that we need to hit these manmade lyrium mines twice as hard," Finn said, trying the optimistic approach even though it felt a little difficult in the face of all this. "She'll want to know about how this venture went, too."

"The Inquisition might be able to do some good, so long as all of us are careful," Blackwall said.

Varric nodded; there seemed to be less steam pouring off his shoulders, although now he looked mostly disappointed. With himself or Bianca, Finn didn't know. "Bianca, you'd better get home before someone misses you."

"Varric…" she said.

"Don't worry about it," he grunted, turning and walking away from them.

Finn almost went to jog after him, but thought better of it. The dwarf obviously wanted to be alone, and Finn's pestering wouldn't do much good.

Mythal's arse. How many people today would insist on solitude, verbally or not, and leave Finn to worry about them by himself? His nerves felt frayed, exposed, plucked on like overused strings on a lute. He gritted his teeth, trying not to think about it too much, but the effort was futile.

"I'll…head out," Bianca said. Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at Finn. "Get Varric killed, and I'll feed you your eyeballs."

" _I'd_ never let Varric get hurt. Gouge out your own fucking eyeballs," Finn snarled.

_Shite._ He hadn't meant to say that. It sounded rude the moment it left his mouth, burning its way out like acid. _I'm a mess today. That shouldn't have been 'last straw' material._ He pursed his lips, swallowed hard, chewed on his tongue a little, and looked awkwardly around at the cavern walls to avoid making eye contact with anyone.

"Neither would I," River said. "Best you leave, Bianca."

"I'll make sure you aren't ambushed by any darkspawn on the way out," Blackwall offered.

"I'm fine on my own." Bianca slipped nimbly past them and left, making barely a noise.

It was a moment before anyone felt like breaking the silence.

"Well, I think night has already fallen," River pointed out. "And I'm too tired to walk back to Redcliffe tonight. I wouldn't be too opposed to setting up camp on Lake Luthias's shore until the morning comes."

"So long as the dwarf hasn't already left," Fenris pointed out.

"I'm going back to Redcliffe," Finn announced.

Everyone looked at him like he'd just told them he was pregnant.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep," he said, scuffing his foot back and forth on the ground. "I'm a little on edge today, in case you guys haven't figured that out by now. So…I'll see you tomorrow, in Redcliffe Village. I'll be fine, promise."

"Finn—" River said.

"I'll go with you," Shesi offered. "I don't get much sleep without Zevran. I'd probably be up and walking around, regardless."

He nearly refused out of sheer stubbornness alone, but decided not to, ultimately. "Thanks. I'd appreciate it."

"Well…take care, guys." River reached out and patted Finn on the shoulder. "See you tomorrow. Be careful."

"Will do," Finn said, offering a parting smile before he turned and left.

***

Finn found Dorian exactly where he thought he might find him—the Gull and Lantern.

"Do what you need to do," Shesi said quietly, as if she somehow knew what Finn had gone into the tavern to do in the first place. "I'll be in here getting a drink if you need me."

"I hear the dwarven ale is exquisite here," Finn told her.

She snorted amusedly and walked off.

The tavern was back to its usual occupancy level, and since it was late, many of the occupants seemed to already be drunk. Most of the people in here were chattering loudly, laughing about things and clanking their flagons together in a toast; someone whooped loudly and swatted Finn's rear as he went by. He shrugged, kept going, and found Dorian sitting alone at a table in the corner of the tavern.

He _still_ wasn't sure if Dorian wanted to talk yet. But he was going to get an answer out of him, anyway. He had to know why he'd been pushed away.

"Are you drunk?" Finn asked, upon reaching him. It was a natural question to ask; Dorian had shadows under his eyes and wine on his table. Still in the glass, thankfully.

"Only about as much as I intended to be," Dorian said, taking a while to actually glance up at Finn.

Finn opened his mouth to speak.

"Hold on a moment." Dorian lifted a hand and stalled him. "I'll have you know I detest confessions and drawn-out, slobbering apologies, but you deserve as much. So I'd much rather just _say_ it."

"Go on," Finn said, lifting an eyebrow.

Dorian sighed heavily, pushing his wine glass away from him; it skidded across the table's grainy surface with a bit of a scratching noise. "It occurred to me that I _possibly_ don't have all the right answers for everything," he said. "I know, I know, noble of me to admit. In any case—shoving you away and wallowing here alone has been an utterly miserable experience." He took Finn's hand and pressed a long kiss to his palm. "It was my last intention to hurt you, and I did exactly that. So if it pleases you, I will swallow my pride, get down on my knees, and apologize to you for the next ten years."

Finn exhaled softly, reaching out with his free hand to comb his fingers through Dorian's sleek black hair. "You don't have to do that." _All you have to do is…don't go._

"I intend to do _something,"_ Dorian insisted. He looked exhausted, frankly. "I'd offer to let you hit me as a gesture of retaliation, but I owe it to Thedas to keep my face in perfect condition."

"That would be a travesty." Hit him? Never. Finn reached for both of his hands, tugging on them. "Come on. Have you paid for your drinks? Let's talk in private."

"I always get drunk responsibly, remember?" Dorian said, standing. "I've had a great deal of practice at it."

He left the table, and Finn trailed after him, following him up the stairs. He must've rented a room here in preparation for spending the night alone while the rest of them were in Valammar. Indeed, he pushed one of the doors open and ushered Finn inside; Finn surveyed the neatly made bed and simple pine furniture, letting Dorian decide when he wanted to talk.

"Might I ask how your sojourn into Valammar was?" Dorian said, sitting down on the side of the bed and resting his hands on his thighs.

Finn plucked a jar of green ink off a nightstand and turned it around in his fingers, watching dim light play off the dark ink inside. "It went about how you'd expect," he said. "The place was full of darkspawn and Carta. None of us were injured, thankfully. Getting darkspawn blood in our mouths would've done us in pretty quick."

"Best not to rely on natural resistances to it, I suspect," Dorian said.

"Nope. But I'll tell you about how it ended later." Finn shook his head, set down the ink jar, and gave both of Dorian's shoulders a shove.

As if humoring him rather than actually being knocked off balance, Dorian plopped down on his back, crossing his arms behind his head. Finn wasted no time climbing up and swinging a leg over him to straddle his pelvis. He made sure to press his ass as heavily as possible against Dorian's lap, planting his hands on his chest.

"Mm. Is this supposed to be another one of your backwards ways of punishing me?" Dorian said with an amused quirk of his mouth, his eyes flickering down briefly to glance at Finn's legs. "You're rewarding me, silly."

"Not really. I'm going to sit here until you tell me what you were so angry about."

Dorian lifted both eyebrows and slipped his hands under Finn's tunic, caressing his bare sides, running his thumbs in slow circles.

Finn swatted his hands. "No touching until you talk."

"Suddenly I see the punishment angle of this," Dorian said, reluctantly withdrawing his hands. "I _could_ just roll you over and pin you."

"And I'd let you," Finn said. No use lying—that would turn him into a senseless mess pretty fast. "But I think you owe me an explanation, don't you?"

Dorian chuckled. "Can I have a kiss first?"

"Nope." Finn shook his head with a sort of dramatic, emphatic flair. Tempting as that was… "I need to have _some_ form of leverage."

"This whole business of _leverage_ is all very nice, Finn, but you've effectively squashed my preferred method of apology."

Finn crossed his arms loosely over his chest. "What method? Kissing me?"

"Ever so much more than that," Dorian said with an almost feral grin.

"That's a one-track mind you've got there." Not that it bothered Finn in the slightest. "But you can tell me all about what your father did to piss you off so badly, and _then_ you can go about apologizing to me in whichever form you want."

"Mmm. Assertive. I like it." Dorian winked. "What say we reverse the order?"

"Nope, nope, and a last nope. I'm not giving in."

"Even if I was at my most convincing?"

"I can be convincing too, you know." Finn smirked a little, set his hands on his thighs, and wiggled his hips a bit—just enough to make certain he'd given Dorian a bit of friction.

Dorian immediately made a soft, pleased groan, reaching for Finn's thighs. Finn grabbed his hands and held them in place just inches from his legs, not letting him make contact.

"I take back any and every nice thing I've ever said about you," Dorian said, huffing. He withdrew his hands and crossed his arms behind his head once more. "You are evil to the core, wrapped up in a convincingly adorable package."

"And I'm also stubborn, so I've got that in my favor." Finn wouldn't bother denying _that,_ either. "I don't think it's good for us to leave things unsaid. So talk it out with me. Tell me anything that comes to your mind. I can take it. I _want_ to."

"I suppose you do deserve the truth of it, at the very least." Dorian's face fell; the memories plaguing him were obviously not pleasant ones. He looked like he wanted to touch Finn—for his own comfort, possibly—but was following orders for the moment. "My father tried to change me, as you heard when we met him."

"Tried to change you, why?"

"Out of desperation, one assumes. I wouldn't put on a show, marry the girl, keep everything unsavory private and locked away." His eyes narrowed, and he looked up at the ceiling. "Selfish, I suppose, not to want to spend my entire life screaming on the inside."

Finn set his hands lightly on Dorian's chest. "Will you tell me what he tried to do?"

"He was going to do a blood ritual," Dorian said sharply. "Alter my mind. Make me…acceptable. I found out—I left."

Finn inhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes widening. _Gods, no…I can't even imagine._ "Does such a ritual even exist? Or was it only a threat?"

"No, it seemed to be an earnest scheme on his part, not merely blackmail," Dorian said. "Maybe it would have worked. Maybe it wouldn't have. It could also have left me a drooling vegetable." He sighed. "You're free to make a silly joke there. Might cheer me up a bit."

Finn smiled fondly. "You would've made a really hot carrot."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Dorian's grey eyes continued to roam the wooden planks on the ceiling. "But…it crushed me to think my father found that _absurd_ risk preferable to scandal. Part of me has…always hoped he didn't really want to go through with it." His chest rose and fell in a heavy breath. "I suppose I'll never know."

"Dorian." Finn rubbed his chest soothingly with one hand. "You're here, right? It didn't happen. I know it hurts, but…at least you've still got your mind."

"And what would I do without that?" Dorian swallowed. "At any rate, thank you for bringing me out there. And for coming back for me. Maker knows my own pride should've been enough to drive you away for good. I can't even imagine what you must think of me now, after today."

"Only good things," Finn promised.

Dorian lifted a brow, shifting his eyes to look at him. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not." Finn planted his hands and Dorian's chest and leaned down a little. "You're brilliant. You're gorgeous. You have the best butt in all of Thedas. You're always making me laugh. You know _so_ many more things about magic and about the world than I'd ever hoped to know. You grew up amongst absolutely _awful_ people and still came out of it as amazing as you are. So if you think today would make me think any less of you, then _you're_ the ridiculous one."

"But of course you slipped in a compliment about my arse." Dorian's eyes softened dramatically, the worried lines of his face easing away, a ghost of a smile tweaking the side of his mouth.

"Who couldn't?" Finn teased lightly. Then his expression sobered. "Just promise me one thing, Dorian—don't push me away like that again. Talk to me. I want to be there for you, but you have to let me."

Dorian extracted his arms from behind his head, reaching to cup Finn's face with both hands. "Finn, despite appearances…I care deeply for you. The last thing I want to do is lose you, and I nearly accomplished exactly that."

"You won't," Finn said. "You'd have to chuck me off a cliff to get rid of me for good."

"Knowing you, you'd survive it," Dorian said.

"If only to get back to you," Finn said with a smile.

He knew it was cheesy. He didn't care much. After today's emotional flip-flopping, he'd decided he could reward himself by being as cheesy as he wanted.

But by the way Dorian lifted his head up and gently pulled Finn's down, pressing their mouths together, tangling his hands in the thick white waves of Finn's hair…neither of them minded a little extra sappiness right now.


	49. Castles of Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! <3

Nanyehi slouched in the chair at Leliana's desk, letting her eyes flutter shut.

"I do hope I haven't burdened you by insisting on this yet again," Josephine said.

"Not at _all,"_ Nani said.

Smooth and warm fingers worked through Nanyehi's hair, taking time to rub soothing circles on her scalp. Josephine had, that afternoon, asked very sweetly if she could braid Nani's hair once again; Nani hadn't objected. Ever the chronic multitasker, Josephine had ushered Nani up the stairs around the rotunda to the rookery above so they could chat with Leliana while the braiding commenced. Right when Josephine had gotten the leather tie out of Nanyehi's hair and begun combing it—why Leliana had a jeweled comb in her desk, Nani didn't know—Cassandra had come up to ask Leliana about something.

That had been a good twenty minutes ago. All four of them were still there; it seemed to have turned into some sort of unconventional "girl time."

"Such a lovely color," Leliana crooned, plucking up a long strand of Nani's red hair. "Just like a garnet. You should leave it down more often."

"It'd get in my way," Nani said, shifting in the chair. She wanted to prop her feet up on the desk, but didn't really want to get shanked by Leliana, so she refrained.

"Around Skyhold?" Leliana said, continuing to play with the same strand, slipping it through her hands.

Nani shrugged.

"Perhaps I should leave," Cassandra said from where she'd sat on a stray crate, sounding clearly amused. "I have nothing to contribute in the hair department."

Leliana chuckled. "Oh, I don't know. I could find some lovely pins for yours."

"Must you?"

" _Tsk._ Stay!" Josephine insisted. "This is the first break I've had from work in quite some time and I fully intend to get as much out of it as I can."

"Is it relaxation if you're still trying to maximize its output, Josephine?" Nani teased.

"Of course!" Josephine defended herself, taking extra time to comb Nani's hair before she begun weaving it into braids. "And besides, we have much to discuss. I believe the Ball is approaching in a short while, Leliana?"

"And we've much to do to prepare." Leliana leaned one hip against her desk. "You have never played the Grand Game, Inquisitor, nor has your brother. Walking into an Orlesian Ball unprepared and uninformed could be a matter of life and death, and not only politically."

"Ugh," Cassandra said.

"And we are all attending, of course," Josephine said.

Nani couldn't turn to look at Cassandra, but she suspected the warrior looked even more disgusted with life than she had two seconds ago.

"It can't be _that_ hard," Nani said.

"Do you know which glass is used for which drink, Inquisitor?" Leliana said. "Which forks go in what order? How to dance a proper waltz? Are you at all times aware of your social status with everyone in the room? Can you talk circles around the elite and pretend to make conversation without actually giving a single thing away?"

"…shit," Nani said.

Cassandra laughed. "I believe there is your answer."

She knew Finn would be able to manage the conversation part, at least from the friendliness angle. He had no reservations about meeting new people and making small talk. However, neither of them were particularly subtle. One had no reason to be subtle when one lived in the woods. And Nani knew she could pick up some hidden nuances in conversations, but Finn was terrible at it.

Some higher-ups this Inquisition had picked.

"Both Lord Dorian and Lady Vivienne are particularly skilled in the matter of formal affairs," Josephine said. "As am I, of course, but I will have my hands full making arrangements these next couple of weeks. I will make sure to ask them to contribute a few lessons before we leave."

"They've got a lot on their shoulders," Nani said, not unsympathetically.

"Less than you might think," Leliana said.

Nani narrowed her eyes. "You're scheming something."

Leliana offered a hardly innocent half smile. "Aren't I always? I'm merely trying to make sure we use every asset to its full advantage, of course."

"And by assets, you probably mean people."

Josephine and Cassandra both nodded at the same time, like Nani's words made sense and were probably accurate, given Leliana's usual inclinations.

Leliana didn't even answer the question in its entirety, as if it went without saying. Maybe it did. "Not a single person in this Inquisition has the same strengths, as you well know. And the Game is not an easy thing to come out on top of. What good are we if we sent Cassandra about to make small talk with a thousand nobles? If we sent Finirial around sizing people up and determining weaknesses? If we put _you_ behind the scenes? Everyone has a role. We need only to determine which is the correct one. It is _vital_ to the Game."

"What are your suggestions?" Nanyehi asked.

"As you might assume, we will need _you_ drawing the majority of the attention," Josephine said.

Leliana nodded her agreement. "You must be the face of the Inquisition. Poised, collected, calm. You won't see a single nobleman or noblewoman running amok and trying to ferret information between underlings; nor should you do it. _You_ are the one everyone's eyes will be on. Be the head of the Inquisition, be our power, but distract them from everyone else doing your bidding."

"I think I would rather drink tea with Varric than do that," Cassandra said, casting Nanyehi a briefly sympathetic look.

"I have no choice, though," Nanyehi said. "And everyone else?"

"We will need conversationalists," Leliana said. "Lady Vivienne will be quite adept at this. She already has a great deal of sway in the Orlesian Court. I imagine Josie and I will be doing much of this as well. I would suggest Lord Dorian for his skill alone, but his Tevinter background will make the Court suspicious of him."

"Not to mention Wardens Mahariel and Surana will be joining us, as well as Lady Hawke." Josephine's fingers tugged on a strand of Nani's hair. "Orlesians adore tales of heroism and drama, and the three of them are prominent figures. No matter what the Court thinks of them, they will draw some of the attention off of you."

"Finn's good at conversing, too," Nani suggested.

"That he is." Leliana paused. " _But_ he is an elf, as you are, and not a hero of the Blight. Orlesians habitually scorn elves. Friendly as your brother is, he might be more useful elsewhere."

Did Nani dare ask what Leliana planned on doing with him? Calculating as Leliana's mind was, she could quite reasonably have any number of roles she wanted him to fill. Nani didn't particularly like the _cross the bridge when you come to it_ mentality, but it might be better to let Leliana scheme for a while before asking any questions that needed concrete answers.

"And what are you doing to _him,_ I wonder?" Cassandra said.

Well, out came the question.

Leliana laughed lightly; it was almost disconcertingly jovial. "I have plans for _everyone,_ Cassandra. You'll see."

And out came the answer.

"There you are! All done," Josephine announced, smoothing a few last bits of Nani's hair into place. "It looks lovely like this, don't you think? It's thick enough to leave much of it down your back and braid a crown around your head with a—oh, I should have fetched you a mirror. Do you think there's—"

"Hush, Josie! It's _beautiful,"_ Leliana said. "There are mirrors in her private quarters, if she desires to see for herself."

"I think I _will_ look." Nani stood, smoothing her tunic. "Oh, Leliana—did you…get any more information on…?"

"On the woman you mentioned?" Leliana filled in. "In the Fallow Mire? What would you have me do, exactly? The wilds of Ferelden are full of numerous elves and hedge witches. An elven mage with white hair is not enough for me to send scouts to investigate. She has done nothing to warrant research or concern."

She was right, and Nani hated it. The mysterious ice-wielder in the Mire, who'd taken down the small Avvar splinter group singlehandedly, had disguised everything potentially useful about herself. Nani had nothing to go on except Cole's cryptic words and her own gut suspicions.

"I understand," she said. "I shouldn't waste Inquisition resources on a wild goose chase. I suppose I'll have to wait for more information to pop up."

"If it does," Leliana said.

True enough.

"I believe Iron Bull and his Chargers are due to arrive home from the Storm Coast today," Josephine mentioned, straightening some bits on Leliana's desk as she talked. Never idle hands, that one. "And, with any luck, Lord Finirial and his party should arrive home from the Hinterlands today as well."

"I have been hearing good reports from both regions, Inquisitor," Leliana said. "Our efforts are doing some good."

Nani smiled. "I'm glad to hear it."

***

Nani found Cullen entrenched in the war room, exactly where she suspected he might be. He may have been more of a workaholic than even _her,_ although her desire to work usually stemmed from a nervous urge to get the current tasks _over_ with. As expected, when she opened the door, he had both hands planted on the table and was currently studying what looked like a piece of parchment with squiggles on it. It could've been anything, had she the desire to look up close, but reading and writing took inordinate amounts of concentration and effort on her part, so she decided she didn't care what the lines read.

Usually, she was a staunch supporter of anything Dalish. Woods were prettier than cities. Nothing felt better than wind at your back and a bow in your hands. But maybe, for the first time, she'd just realized her life as a Dalish hunter had done her a disservice.

If she had been raised in an alienage…would she have been a more proficient reader and writer? Finn was better at it, but Keepers and Firsts were always studying whatever ancient texts they could get their hands on. Hunters had no use for such things.

Cullen looked up, and Nani crossed around the table to greet him.

"You look especially lovely today," he said, lifting a hand to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "I see Josephine went to work on you once again."

Nani smiled. "She seems to like doing it."

He himself looked a little worse for the wear today—as he had almost every time she'd seen him, she noted. Nani wasn't one to cling to someone, even in a tentative relationship such as they had, and so she didn't know _precisely_ what he looked like every hour of every day. But he looked ill; that much she knew. Paler, ashen skin, shadows under the eyes, and worry lines on his forehead couldn't bode well.

"As do you, I'd expect," Cullen said. "You seem to be in a calmer mood today."

"As opposed to my usual high-strung self," Nani said, shrugging.

Cullen gave her an encouraging look. "You're the Inquisitor. You have countless responsibilities and problems on your shoulders, and you're carrying them as well as one can." She almost asked if he'd meant to say as well as any Dalish could, but he continued. "And I regret I have to add to your growing list of problems."

She furrowed her brows. "What's the matter?"

"As leader of the Inquisition, and as a woman I care for, you…deserve to know." He leaned both hands on the table once more. "I have stopped taking lyrium."

"Templars ritually take lyrium, don't they?" Nani asked. She didn't know much about the Templar order; before the Inquisition, her only thoughts regarding a Templar had been _please don't take my brother away._

"It grants us our abilities against mages," Cullen said, nodding. "Yet it controls us as well. Those cut off…suffer. Some go mad. Others die."

"When did you stop taking it?" she asked.

"When I joined the Inquisition," he said, straightening and scrubbing a hand through his hair. He looked _exhausted._ "It's been months now. After what happened in Kirkwall…I will not be bound to the Order—or that life—any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it."

"Cullen—"

"I would not put the Inquisition at risk, Nanyehi," he continued. "Your soldiers need me, as do you. So I've…" He broke off, coughing lightly into his hand. "I've asked Cassandra to watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be…relieved from duty."

Nani hopped up to sit on the war table. "Creators know I'm not about to object to an ex-Templar breaking away completely from the Order. But…alright. I trust Cassandra."

If Cullen's current appearance was any indication…his withdrawals were already going steeply downhill. Nani anticipated a struggle ahead. Her muscles wanted to tense, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to relax.

"Thank you," Cullen said, raking a hand through his thick blond hair once again. "I know you have so much on your shoulders. I will endure as much of this on my own as I can."

"Hey—you don't have to do that." Nani knew she wasn't good with feelings, and often found herself trapped behind her own mental barriers and fears, but if she just _pushed herself…_ "No one should have to suffer anything alone."

"And that's why _you_ have the entire Inquisition at your back, isn't it?" He cupped a hand under her chin and tilted her head up; Nani let him, kissing him when he dipped his head down to lightly press his mouth to hers.

"And I think I might've already gone on a homicidal rampage if I didn't have the Inquisition," she said with a light laugh when he straightened up.

He laughed softly as well. "I daresay I couldn't blame you if you did." Then he took a step back, looking almost wistful. "Maybe once this is all over, I'll find my family again and settle down. Live the rest of my life like an old man in a rocker. Don't you ever want to do that? Just…be nobody important anymore?"

"I…don't know," Nani said.

Cullen raised both brows.

She cleared her throat. "I couldn't imagine ever sitting around in a house and wasting away my life. I'd feel useless. What if I never picked up a bow again? I've been a hunter nearly since I was born. And I miss the woods so often."

"Ah," Cullen said. "I confess I sometimes forget how differently you've lived."

"It's home to me," Nani said, scratching the back of her neck.

"As I can imagine." Cullen crossed around to the other side of the table, nearest the door. "I've work to do, and I'm certain you do as well. Much as I'd rather talk with you, I should return to my duties."

Nani smiled softly and waved him away. "Go on. I think you'd explode if you weren't being a chronic workaholic."

Cullen chuckled, like this wasn't news to him, and strode out of the war room.

She sat there for a while, contemplating life and remembering to relax. Much as she wanted to find a tree and meditate, she knew everyone was supposed to arrive home today, and so she'd rather not be busy when they got here. Instead she amused herself by studying the table's expansive map, dragging her fingertip on a long journey from the Frostback Mountains to Highever in the north of Ferelden, across the Waking Sea to Kirkwall, north to Tevinter and sweeping east to Antiva.

Perhaps she should've been attending to duties, but she made herself relax instead. Relaxation was important, too.

Time passed—probably a half hour or so, she was fairly certain—before her finely-tuned ears picked up voices coming from down the hall.

Finn? The accent sounded like his. She smiled widely and hopped off the table, slipping out the door.

Nani jogged away from the war room, wanting to greet everyone who'd made it back. She paused before she opened the door into the antechamber where Josephine's office was, though; she heard voices on the other side of the door. Her fingers brushed against the knob, but she hesitated.

"Dorian, why are you wearing my belt?" Finn's voice. "I was looking all over for it this morning, you tit."

"Because _you're_ wearing _mine,_ darling." Footsteps accompanied Dorian's voice. "Did the fact escape you until now?"

Finn chuckled. "I've been a bit distracted, you know. You haven't been letting me sleep well the past couple of days."

"Now now, Finn. I've only been demonstrating my _deepest_ apologies for the circumstances in Redcliffe Village."

"Yes, well, if you keep up what you're doing, you might have to apologize to my arse."

"Mmm. In what fashion?"

"I'm sure you can think of something."

"Knock, knock," Nani called, twisting the knob and pushing the door open. Both Dorian and Finn took a casual step apart from each other; Dorian smiled a greeting, but Finn grabbed a glass of water off Josephine's desk and took a conspicuously long drink, his cheeks slightly red. "You guys just got back? How was Valammar?"

"I can write up a full report in a moment," Finn said, his voice a bit rougher than usual. He held on to the glass, like he was about to take another drink. "If you can read my handwriting, that is. It's good to see you, Nani. You survived the Mire?"

"In one piece," she said. She almost opened her mouth to mention the woman in the bogs, but…what would come of it? Nothing but unrequited curiosity, at the very least, for Finn. He had other things to do than potentially agonize over that. She'd handle that herself. "No injuries where you were?"

"None," he said. "Everyone is in tip-top shape."

"Somewhat," Dorian said. "A little tired, yes, but nothing new. No fun cases of Blight sickness or anything of the sort."

"Good," Nani said, leaning one hip against Josephine's desk and watching Finn take another drag of water. "I was just talking with Leliana about our impending journey to Halamshiral, and she specifically mentioned you."

"Oh?" Dorian said. "Does she intend to make use of my dashing good looks? My bountiful charm?"

"She said you know how to handle balls," Nani said.

Finn made a loud _pffff_ sound and sprayed water on the floor.

Dorian lifted a brow, looking over at Finn, who immediately went into simultaneous coughing and laughing fits, cackling like a madman as he turned and pushed his way out through the door.

"I believe your brother can vouch for that," Dorian said, releasing a quick breath of laughter from his nose.

"Oh, shit," Nani said, her face flaming, molten hot. "That didn't come out right. I didn't mean—well, I suppose you _do_ —gods, I can't speak today…"

"You should really quit while you're ahead, my dear Inquisitor." Dorian shook his head fondly, like a father amused that his daughter had just eaten a clump of dirt. "And, yes. I do, in fact, have quite a bit of experience with balls."

" _Dorian,"_ Finn choked from the other side of the door. "I'm trying to breathe!"

Nani scrubbed at her face, as if she could wipe away the searing heat in her cheeks. "If you could forget I worded it like that, I'd owe you one. _Anyway…_ she suggested you or Vivienne teach me more about how to conduct myself around nobles before we head for the Winter Palace. We have to play the Game correctly, or we'll lose it."

Dorian nodded his agreement. "I can manage such a task. All in good time, of course. For the moment, I have nothing else planned but losing my dignity in the tavern over a bottle of wine, and I fully intend to do so."

The door creaked open, and Finn re-entered the room, obviously attempting to compose himself. "Haven't you had enough wine over the past few days?"

"Finn, that was without a doubt the most asinine question you have ever asked," Dorian said.

"And I once asked you if someone could get intoxicated by smoking elfroot," Finn said.

"It would be a true marvel of the sciences if one could." Dorian crossed his arms and fixed his attention on Nani again. "Might I suggest we all attend to this social training at a later date? If I recall correctly, you've got quite a few prisoners gathering dust in Skyhold's jail cells, and many of the people here and clamoring for you to pass judgment on them."

And Alexius was in prison, Dorian's former mentor. Nani frowned apologetically. "Dorian, I'm _so_ sorry…I'll call for a round of trials tomorrow. I can't believe I—"

"Don't fret, silly. I'm sure everyone down there has had a good long while to ponder what they've done." Dorian looped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her slender frame. "You're a ball of nerves all over again. Come down to the tavern and grab a drink with me and Finn. I'm sure others down there will want to talk with you as well."

"Nani isn't a huge fan of drinks," Finn mentioned, but he looked hopefully at her, like maybe she'd change her mind. "Last time she tried an ale, she spat it out at the base of a tree as if it would give the thing some water."

"Maybe I'll try something new," she said.

Finn smiled and came around to her other side, resting a hand on her back and pushing her forward. "Let's go, then. I think it's been a while since we all spent some time together."


	50. Judgment Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I am extremely sorry for letting this sit for as long as I did, I've been rather distracted with divorce proceedings (long story) and as such barely had the motivation to update. So, as an apology, I'll toss a bunch of chapters at you all instead of just one.
> 
> Also! As far as this chapter goes, I should make a reminder that the Goat-Guy judgment does not occur here, since I took the Fallow Mire segment in a different path.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

"Solas!" Finn called, jogging into the round chamber below the rotunda. He spotted Solas up on the scaffolding, working on one of his expansive wall murals. "Hey."

"Ah, Finirial." Solas set his paints down in a bucket and regarded him from above, then climbed nimbly down the ladder. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Nope." Finn sat down on the table's surface, bracing his hands on the flat wood behind him and leaning back against them. "Just came by to talk. They're setting up the main hall for all of the judgments Nani is scheduled to do today, so I thought I'd catch up with you."

Solas looked at him quietly for a moment, his expression unreadable as it always was, completely illegible, like a book whose ink lines had all but faded away. Then he eased into a mild half smile. "You never do what I expect of you."

"That a good thing or a bad thing?" Finn asked.

"A welcome thing, in this case," Solas answered.

Finn craned his head around, studying Solas's paintings—colorful frescos encircling the walls by half, depicting symbols and abstract figures. Solas really did have a talent for this, amongst many other things.

"What do you think Corypheus will do, now that we've taken the Wardens?" Finn mused aloud. "Other than cry in a corner, I'm assuming."

"You ask me?" Solas said. He almost sounded defensive. "What makes you think I might be able to predict his motives?"

"Because you know things others don't," Finn said. "You visit all these incredible places in your dreams and find memories none of us could ever hope to discover. Maybe you're as 'in the dark' as the rest of us are, but…you've never steered us wrong. So I thought maybe you'd have a prediction."

Solas's brows lifted just a touch. "My poor manners shame me, then."

Finn waved a hand dismissively. "No shame intended."

"No doubt Corypheus intends to throw Orlais into chaos," Solas said, pacing a step sideways and touching his chin in thought. "Nanyehi has shamed him by destroying Haven, escaping herself, and taking his Wardens out from under his grasp. He is mad with power and lusts for godhood—he will not leave her slights unanswered."

Finn dwelled on that, lifting his hands and studying the blue lines of _vallaslin._ When he glanced up at Solas, the other mage looked down at Finn's hands as well…and cringed.

Finn cocked his head, but Solas offered no explanation for his reaction.

"Can someone _really_ do that?" Finn said. "Just become a god like he's trying to do?"

Solas didn't answer his question, not directly. "What do you think of the gods? Your elven ones?"

"I…don't know." And it was an odd thing to admit out loud. "All Firsts are primed to be devout. We study, meditate, pray, grieve, and yet I've always wondered—what _are_ the gods? Are gods just powerful spirits? It's stuffed down our throats that the Dread Wolf sealed them away in a fit of wickedness or something, but we have no _proof_ of that; or any of it, really. So I guess that was a long-winded way of saying I'm not sure what to think. I like to _see_ things to believe them." He cut himself off. "Sorry, I just rambled at you."

"Do not apologize." Solas shook his head, shifting on his feet. "You do nothing wrong by questioning what the Dalish taught you."

"I just made your day, didn't I?" Finn teased. He knew Solas disapproved of much of what the Dalish did. And said. And thought. "It'd be nice, to be able to do what you do. Bend the Beyond around what you want to see. Maybe then I'd know more."

Solas idly brushed a bit of lint off his tunic. "And the prospect of encountering spirits does not frighten you?"

"No." Finn chuckled breathily. "I'm a mage. I'm familiar enough with the Beyond. And there are all kinds of spirits in the Beyond. What harm is there in learning things from one? Not everything has bad intentions."

"You take a viewpoint not many of the Dalish would dare to."

"In case you haven't noticed…I hardly act Dalish. Even I recognize that."

"You are right." Solas nodded once in agreement. "It is rare for the Dalish to produce such an open, curious mind. You have an extraordinary view of the world, Finirial."

"Careful," Finn said, grinning, "you almost sound like you like me."

Solas responded with a light laugh. "Is that such a travesty?"

"Obviously," Finn joked. He fidgeted, toying with his fingers. "I _did_ have a question for you, actually."

"Speak, then."

"There's really no other way to say this—my barrier spells aren't where they should be, by now." Swallowing, Finn flickered his eyes down for just a second. He'd been noticing this the past few fights, his inability to cover more than one person with a barrier no matter how hard he tried. "And it's kind of awkward, because being a knight-enchanter _relies_ on barriers. I've always drawn the most strength from the ones _other_ people put on me. Mine don't last as long and I can only cover one person with them. And I know none of that was a question, so I'll get to the point: is there _anything_ I can do to improve it? I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

"I could insist you practice, but that might be an exercise in futility." Solas thought quietly for a moment. "We live differently from what I have seen of ancient Arlathan in dreams. We are closed away from much of magic. Perhaps you are meant to do other things than create barriers."

"That's not really an option," Finn said softly. "Nani's been putting me on the front lines more and more. I _have_ to get better."

"Are you the only one fighting each battle, Finirial?" Solas said pointedly.

Finn shook his head. "No, you're right. I'm not."

"Then let me promise you this, my friend." Solas's eyes were fixed on him, storm-blue. "You will always have my barrier, when I am present to give it."

Finn rather wanted to turn this moment cheesy and hug the shit out of Solas, but he had a feeling the other elf would burn the rotunda to the ground if Finn suddenly tackled him. So he refrained, smiling instead. "And I'll do my best to put good use to it."

"Of that I have no doubt." Solas looked sideways at the doorway. "Ah, I hear voices."

"Then people are probably filtering in to get seats so they can watch." Finn shrugged. "I think Skyhold is composed of ninety-percent sadists." He hopped off the desk and stood. "And I'm about to make myself look really awkward and hypocritical by joining the viewers. I suppose you'll keep painting?"

Solas nodded. "My interest in how your sister fares as a judge does not outweigh my distaste at willingly joining a crowd of gawkers. I will hear of her decisions through word of mouth, no doubt."

"I'll tell you how it goes myself, if I remember." Finn gestured a quick farewell, then left for the main hall.

***

Nanyehi had never been anywhere more terrifying in her entire life. Possibly even counting the sojourn through the Fade.

She sat with her back perfectly straight on the throne on the dais in Skyhold's main hall, her wine-red hair done up in a braided up-do, courtesy once again of Josephine. The hall teemed with people, most of them sitting in chairs that servants had set up ringing the hall. If she looked, she knew she'd find familiar faces in the crowd, but she didn't want to focus on them; she wanted the hall to be a sea of faceless people so sitting under their collective scrutiny seemed less personal.

It was impossible to miss Bull's horns, though. She'd spotted him a little while ago, standing with his Chargers in tow, watching her with a scrutinizing eye. She had no clue what he'd pass to the Ben-Hassrath in his reports; no doubt some of her judgments here would easily make the cut.

Folding her hands tightly in her lap, Nani straightened her back even more, waiting for the first _real_ judgment.

The scattered property disputes she'd been settling for the past hour hadn't really felt _legitimate,_ for her. The first had been a man complaining about twelve missing chickens—which she knew to have been Cole, for whatever reason—and another had been regarding a squabble over who had the right to one of the rooms over the garden. Not to mention the ten-minute argument between two Orlesian noblewomen about if they were allowed to pluck flowers from the garden for their hats.

Nani wanted to bury herself in a hole, cover it with dirt, and never come out.

"I believe many of us have been anxious for this judgment, Lady Inquisitor," Josephine said, offering Nani a secret encouraging smile when she turned her way. Two armed guards led a prisoner in Tevene-styled robes along the makeshift aisle between the two sides of the crowd. "You recall Gereon Alexius of Tevinter. Ferelden has given him to us as acknowledgment of your aid."

Alexius lifted his head and looked Nani dead in the eye, his expression flat and dull. He looked completely defeated; she almost felt guilty for leaving him unjudged for so long.

But his actions had nearly thrown Thedas into devastation. _Had_ gotten Finn impaled through the gut on a terror demon's talon. She hadn't forgotten how her older brother had nearly bled to death on the floor in Redcliffe's castle.

"The formal charges are apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted assassination—on a few of our own lives, no less," Josephine said, her amber-brown gaze shifting from Alexius to Nanyehi. "Tevinter has disowned him and stripped him of his rank. You may judge the former magister as you see fit."

Nani swallowed.

"I recognize these charges," she said. _Finn nearly lost his life because of you._ "Have you anything to say, Alexius?"

Alexius's expression crumpled. "I couldn't save my son. Do you think my fate matters to me?" His tone was pure acid. "A storm comes, Inquisitor. Render your judgment—no decision you make will change that."

No, perhaps nothing would.

Nani cast a glance sideways.

Dorian wasn't hard to spot, dressed in impeccable white and grey-shaded armored robes as he so often was. Not to mention Finn's ice-white hair was a beacon in itself. Dorian had his arms over his chest and his lips thinned, obviously in anticipation of her judgment; Nani hadn't forgotten he'd asked her not to be needlessly cruel with Alexius.

_It's okay,_ Finn mouthed from where he stood right at Dorian's side, offering her an encouraging smile.

"Magister Alexius," Nani said, "A few of us here personally witnessed how you made the impossible happen in Redcliffe. And I'm not too keen on throwing your talents and knowledge away." She reminded herself not to fidget, but it was easier than she'd been anticipating. "As such, I am charging you with being a researcher of the arcane for the Inquisition. You will be under surveillance, and I will choose what you research, but you will be free to work as you please and put your talents to use."

"No execution?" Alexius said. It didn't sound very much like a question.

"Of all the people who have served Corypheus so far, yours are the only motivations I understand," she said. "And I do sympathize for Felix's loss. _I_ nearly lost family, myself. But I won't justify the mercy killing you may want when the Inquisition could greatly benefit from your talents. Maybe you'll find some amount of joy in your research." _Like Dorian said you used to._

"Very well," Alexius said, meeting her gaze. "Maybe I shall."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dorian's tight expression relax, the worry lines vanishing from his forehead and between his eyes. Alexius had been a mentor to him once, a teacher, a father figure; she knew the sentence mattered to him. Dorian looped an arm loosely around Finn's shoulders, catching Nanyehi's glance when she looked over.

He'd saved Finn's life by hauling him to a healer when she'd thought all hope had been lost, when she'd been ready to tear into Alexius and consumed by her own blind rage. She owed Dorian the world, if not just this one judgment outcome.

The crowd murmured amongst themselves, but Nani refused to tune her sensitive elven ears into any of their hushed conversations. She was the Inquisitor; she had to make decisions and stick with them, even when they were difficult ones to make.

"The Inquisitor has spoken," Josephine said, as the guards once again led Alexius down the aisle—less roughly this time, and in the opposite direction. "Now, we've another matter to attend to that many of you have personal opinions on." She turned her head to the aisleway, her expression calmly neutral. "I must introduce Mayor Gregory Dedrick of Crestwood, who is present for betraying his own constituents during the Fifth Blight."

The mayor looked much less calm than Alexius had as the guards brought him in; his eyes flickered nervously around the room as some people regarded him with very little care in their eyes and others spat on the floor. Leliana, standing silently on Nani's left, cringed each time someone spat, as though she found the act vile.

"He confesses that ten years ago, he flooded Old Crestwood to kill refugees and villagers touched by the Blight," Josephine said. "The mayor claims it was to spare the rest of Crestwood, but we have only his word."

Dedrick visibly worked his lower jaw back in forth in obvious stress, his skin pale and beaded slightly with sweat. "There's no cure for the Blight! But I couldn't convince anyone to leave a sick child or husband behind."

"So you herded the infected into one place and flooded Old Crestwood?" Josephine said. "Were no innocents caught in the waters?"

"Nearly everyone in the village had the Blight, I swear it!" The mayor wrung his hands together, shackles clanking. "Have mercy. I couldn't tell the survivors I'd drowned their own families to save them. I… _couldn't._ "

What felt like a million expectant eyes turned to Nanyehi.

"I have no experience with the Blight and insufficient knowledge of it," Nani said. "I would like to call the Warden-Constable of Ferelden, Warden Mahariel, forward for input."

Even _she_ wondered herself why her first call hadn't been to Warden Blackwall; the thought occurred to her only after she'd spoken Shesi's name. The small, olive-skinned Dalish woman approached from wherever she'd been standing or sitting in the hall, her mahogany brown hair neatly brushed for probably the first time Nanyehi had ever seen.

"I'll offer what input I can," Shesi said, standing on the steps of the dais and casually leaning on one hip. She turned to face the crowd. "It would do us all well to remember that dying from Blight sickness is an agonizing, brutal, and inhumane way to go. Ferelden did everything it could to survive the darkspawn onslaught, by any means necessary, as did _we_." A long pause. "As a Grey Warden, Inquisitor, I can't make this judgment for you, nor do I want to. But _nothing_ is cut-and-dry when it comes to a Blight. Keep that in mind."

She remained on the steps, waiting, offering Nanyehi at least her physical presence and support even though she'd refused to make any final judgments.

And she was right. As the Inquisitor…Nani needed to be at the head of every single decision.

"Mayor Dedrick," Nani said, her back stiff from sitting so ramrod straight, "your actions killed many when you flooded the caves. However, the darkspawn killed many more." Her palms felt sweaty. "And right now, we're faced with an equally great catastrophe. Rifts and demons threaten and destroy innocents all over Thedas. You will, under supervision, be a part of the relief efforts for refugees and survivors wherever help is needed. Understand that incredibly taxing physical labor will be asked of you." She could feel the knots and cords in her shoulders. "This is how you will help Ferelden survive our current crisis and repay your debts to it."

Shesi silently nodded her approval.

"I will not throw away this chance, Inquisitor," the mayor said—earnestly, from what she could tell.

Josephine dismissed him with a gesture, and the guards led him away. Shesi stepped off the dais and joined Zevran and Warden Surana at the back of the crowd; Nani spotted their blond heads, Zevran's silvery blond and Ellairia's soft locks the color of pale wheat.

She knew Sera had expressed a vehement desire to see Dedrick lose his head for what he'd done. Others probably thought similarly. And Nani didn't like losing approval from her closest companions, but she had to do what she thought was right.

Quietly, she sucked in a deep, slow breath and blew it out through her nose.

"We have one more judgment of note on this day," Josephine said. "Might I present Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, who remains loyal to Corypheus after the events of Adamant Fortress."

_Adamant._ The event that had single-handedly thrown her and her companions physically into the Fade, broken River Hawke's shinbone, thrust Cassandra into a world she dreaded to think of even now, coated Finn in parasitic ice that nearly stopped his heart, advanced Ellairia's fake Calling to the point that she'd collapsed after casting a healing spell, and sent Warden Stroud to his certain doom.

One could say Nani had _vivid_ personal hatred for Livius Erimond, way more so than what she _thought_ she'd had for Alexius.

The magister still wore his favorite sneer as he was escorted to stand in front of her; Nani cast her eyes around the room for a moment. River had Fenris's hand clasped tight in hers, and the other clamped on Varric's shoulder, as if the three were drawing support from each other—or convincing each other not to murder Erimond where he stood. Fenris had noticeably paled, his brows drawn together, every muscle taut.

She shifted her eyes, saw Iron Bull and Krem simultaneously crack their knuckles, and _nearly_ chuckled at the subtle gesture.

"I can't believe you found him alive," Nanyehi said. She'd watched Clarel tear into him with a shock spell before the bridge came down.

"It seems he managed to escape the same fate that happened to you," Josephine said. "We found him very much alive and offering extreme resistance, likely because the Order will ask for his head. In more colorful terms, quite possibly."

Nani nodded. "Let's make the most of this opportunity, then."

"I recognize _none_ of these proceedings," Erimond spat. "You have no authority to judge me."

"I have every authority to judge you," Nani corrected. "Your crimes may have been committed on Orlesian soil, but they were against the Grey Wardens and against the Inquisition."

"Many officials have communicated that they will defer to the Inquisitor in this matter," Josephine supplied. "As such, the floor is yours, Inquisitor."

"Because they _fear."_ Erimond pulled his upper lip back in a sort of disgusted snarl. "Not just Corypheus, but Tevinter, rightful ruler of every piece of ground you've trod in your pathetic—"

"Gag him, please," Nani interrupted.

One of the guards fished a rag out of his pocket and stuffed it in Erimond's mouth. From the side of the room, Nani heard Finn laugh softly.

"Now that I _truly_ have the floor," Nani said, meeting Erimond's hateful gaze dead-on, "I think I'll take a moment to remind you that the 'god' you so lovingly served has abandoned you to us and never looked back."

Erimond grunted something unintelligible around the gag.

"Despite injuries and losses taken by the Inquisition at Adamant, it was the Grey Wardens who suffered the most from your crimes." Nani stood, crossing her slender arms over her chest. "And it will be a Grey Warden who brings you to justice." She paced a step sideways. "As we all know, Clarel de Chansons, Commander of the Grey in Orlais, lost her life at Adamant Fortress. In her absence, I will defer your impending execution to Corvis Nalida, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. You will be held prisoner indefinitely until Commander Nalida is present, to execute you in any manner and with any speed he sees fit."

Erimond's eyes narrowed murderously, and he jerked forward a little, chains rattling, but the guards held him in place. Satisfied, Nani allowed the tiniest of smiles to creep onto her face.

Not the reaction she'd been expecting, after his reported gushing during his prison stay about how glory awaited for him in the next world. He must've been fairly confident Corvis would make him suffer in this one.

This time, for this…she had no sympathy.

***

It took Skyhold's occupants what felt like weeks to clear out of the main hall.

A headache throbbed behind Nani's eyes; she made a mental note to check with Warden Surana and see if she had any elfroot or prophet's laurel to offer for the ache. She didn't even have the willpower to meditate after the long day of judgments—all she really wanted to do at the moment was soak in a bath scented with lavender soap and fall asleep.

"Such a trying day for you, darling," Lady Vivienne said in passing, sweeping through the hall with her shoulders held regally high. "You look positively ill. Do try to rest."

Nani honestly couldn't tell if that was concern or an insult.

The urge to hug someone, however uncharacteristic it might be, surged through her; luckily, it was Dorian who was closest to her after the hall cleared out, so she threw herself at him and squeezed around his middle.

"Goodness, that's quite the hug," Dorian said, returning it with equal amounts of affection. He felt warm and safe, and smelled pleasantly like smoke and Tevene spices; no wonder Finn was always smiling. "You did well, Nanyehi. Although I'm going to have to scold you if you keep attempting to break my ribs."

"Sorry." A bit calmer, Nani pulled away from Dorian, then found Finn next to him and hugged _him_.

Creators, her brother gave incredible hugs too. But she'd always known _that._ He'd raised her, after all, since she was only a toddler. His hugs felt like a warm blanket, a cozy aravel under a Starkhaven night sky, a breath of fresh air.

"You did better than I would," Finn said, holding her tight. His wavy white hair tickled her cheek. "I would've sentenced Erimond to give a cucumber a blowjob in the middle of the hall. Probably for the best you never follow in my footsteps."

Nani snorted, pulling away.

"Frosty, you are an absolute _wealth_ of hilariously awful dialogue." Varric strode up to them, twirling a quill pen in his fingers. "And nice patience up there, Sharpshot. Especially with the hat bullshit. I think that earns you a round of ale tonight, on the house. Or, on the dwarf. Even if you don't want it."

She…she had a nickname now?

Nani beamed.

"Dorian," River said, not quite approaching them, "Finn, could I talk to you both for a moment? It won't take long, I promise."

Dorian and Finn looked at each other, Finn shrugged, and both apparently decided without words to just go with it. They followed River out of the main hall, and Varric went to find Fenris, pulling him some conversation Nani decided not to eavesdrop on.

She didn't stand alone for long.

"Inquisitor," Blackwall said, approaching her. "I know sitting up there for hours tried your patience. And yet you still answered every crime and grievance with a clear head and the Inquisition's best interests in your mind." He smiled warmly, and she tried not to be too fascinated by his absolutely mesmerizing beard. "It's been a pleasure to follow you. To stand at your side."

"You sound like you're leaving," Nani said. "Or like one of us is about to die."

"None of those, if I can help it." Blackwall chuckled; his laugh was raspy, rough. "It helps every leader to know where their followers stand, and this is where _I_ stand. You're a special woman, Inquisitor."

She barely had time to react to that before he bade her farewell for the day and strode away. But she smiled, even though he didn't see it.

Perhaps the bath could wait. Nani hesitated a moment, then strode out of the hall herself, heading where she knew Cassandra would be. A visit to her, first, maybe have a seat and chug a canteen of water; then she'd jog up to the ramparts and spend a little time with Cullen.

Maybe there were people who hadn't liked her judgments. She knew she'd gain disapproval from some. But even so, to have her companions and family at her side and at her back…she felt a sense of contentment that hadn't come easily to her in a long, long while.


	51. Ladies and Gentlemen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off to Orlais! Yay?
> 
> (If you think you missed something, there's another freshly updated chapter before this!)

River Hawke had remembered Val Royeaux's opulence from the last time she'd been there, but she continued to be surprised by Orlesian decadence every time she saw it.

She didn't know the name of whichever lesser lord or duke or whatnot that was housing the Inquisition's higher-ups in their estate not far outside of Halamshiral. But whoever owned the place clearly had a thing for frilly soaps. River had caught Ellairia Surana trying to sneak out of the washroom after apparently spending half an hour in there sniffing each soap; naturally, she'd had to do the same.

The white marble floors all over the estate felt cold and unnatural under her bare feet; she'd decided to walk around sans boots for the time being. And the washroom was easily the size of her room in Skyhold, and decorated like the noble had thrown buckets of money at it until it drowned in luxury. The marble countertops were trimmed with carved brass, the mirror's golden rim decorated with lion motifs, each soap encased in a glass bottle that was easily worth more than River's life.

Might as well inhale all of them. She picked one up, the glass jar nearly sparkling, liquid catching the light inside. It smelled heavily of primrose and reminded her of an old woman, so she put that one down. Another one gave her an overpowering dose of lemon zest, and another reeked so badly of cinnamon and cardamom that she sneezed.

_Maybe you're a noblewoman by blood,_ she told herself, _but there's nothing properly noble about you._

She whistled a tune, leaving the washroom and shutting the door carefully behind her. She'd turned to make sure the door didn't slam into the wall while being shut; when she turned back to the hallway to continue down it, she nearly ran smack into Fenris.

"Shit. I'm sorry, love," River said. "Were you—"

"My curiosity finally got the better of me," Fenris said. "How long did you think you could trick me for? I'll have you know I saw right through it weeks ago."

"What do you mean?" She played dumb. Tried to, at least.

"Did all of you collectively think I wouldn't recognize the sight of Tevene tailoring?" Fenris said now, sounding unimpressed. "I spent much of my life in Tevinter, _bound to a magister._ I know what I'm looking at."

"Dorian isn't a—" she started.

"Magister? I'm aware." Fenris shifted to lean against the nearest wall, crooking one leg. "Magister, Altus, it doesn't matter. You'd be a fool to trust anyone from Tevinter's higher class."

"Fenris…" River approached him, undaunted, and rested her hands on his muscular chest. His eyes softened slightly, affectionately, though he didn't move. "Look, I'm sorry. I—I keep screwing things up with you, don't I? And trying to protect you when I shouldn't be. I was worried that learning where Dorian was from would…"

"Set me off?" Fenris filled in. "Am I the same man you met years ago, River?"

She shook her head. "No. You're right."

He didn't say anything, just rested a hand on her hip.

"You can't blame me for trying," she said. "I know how much you went through, how much it hurts you still. How you have to be reminded of it every time you look in a mirror." She lifted a hand to graze her fingers on the lyrium lines on his neck, and he sighed, relaxing somewhat under her touch. "And…Dorian sees things differently from you. He's had different experiences. But I _promise_ you, he's a good person. He—"

"You sound as though you're trying to convince me not to kill him," Fenris said, his eyes bottomless and leafy-green. "I'm not so filled with bloodlust that I would take his life _unprovoked_."

River breathed a sigh of relief, letting out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding for weeks.

"You know me," she said, attempting a lighthearted smile. "Always tugging on the strings connecting people and trying to fix relationships and prevent catastrophes. I didn't want there to be any sort of civil war in the Inquisition, and…and I forgot how much we've changed since we met, haven't I?"

"It's been a lifetime," he said quietly.

She smoothed her palms up and down his well-muscled arms. "I _hate_ change," she admitted. "I hate every bit of it. Maybe that's why I keep pretending we're all the same as we were years ago. Sometimes when I get a headache my first thought is to go to Anders instead of Ellie. I still imagine Isabela's laugh all the time. And I quite literally told Dorian to claim he was from Antiva just so it wouldn't remind you of Tevinter, because I'd forgotten how much _you've_ changed."

"Trust me," Fenris said with a dry laugh, "I knew _that_ was your doing."

"Maker, I'm awful." She chewed on her bottom lip.

"Perhaps," he said. "But you're _Hawke._ I'll endure many things for your sake."

"Sweet-talker." River chuckled and leaned into him, smiling when his arms came around her back and held her close. "I don't know why you let me keep things from you for weeks on end. Or, attempt to. I've got two failures under my belt now, if we count that letter I left you when Varric asked me to join the Inquisition." She nuzzled her forehead into the curve of his neck. "Maybe you could give it a try and talk to Dorian? Just once? He's not _always_ elitist. You can't be a staunch elitist and have feelings for _Finn."_

He exhaled what could've either been a laugh or a sigh. "I have no intentions of conversing with him, River."

"No?"

"Nor anyone, particularly." He lifted her head from his shoulder, gently, and pressed a kiss to her lips. "I'm only here for you. If you had defected and sailed to Llomerryn to drink away the rest of your days, I would have joined you there as well."

"Because you love bad Rivaini ale and you know it," River teased.

"Because I love _you_ and I know it," he countered.

Maker, it still filled her stomach with stupid butterflies whenever he said things like that. She felt herself flushing pink against her will.

"For fuck's sake, you turn me into a blubbering mess," she said. He even looked _proud_ of that, damn him; that half smile was too sexy for its own good. "Just for that, I think I'm going to rope you into my wicked scheme to desecrate this nobleman's washroom. Have to have a _little_ fun before the ball, after all."

Fenris _smirked._ "I'm listening."

"You think that sink can hold my weight?" River said with a wink.

"I think," he said, bending to grab her legs and hook them around his waist, which she happily helped him with, "that even if it fails to, _I_ can."

"Goodness me," Dorian said from somewhere near to them, "I should hope nobody is purposefully breaking sinks. Some of us happen to like using those."

Fenris's whole body went taut like a hide on a tanner's rack.

"Um," River said, twisting her head around to look at him, still clinging to the elven warrior's torso like a primate with her legs tight around his waist. "Dorian, we're a _tad_ busy here."

"So I've noticed," the Tevene mage said, rather smugly.

"I would not push your luck, mage," Fenris said icily.

River weighed the situation. Fenris's tone—a little sketchy. The fact that Fenris hadn't committed homicide yet—good sign. She wasn't sure if her position clinging to him had any influence on his decisions, but she certainly wasn't moving. Fenris had a sharp mind and a good sense of right and wrong, she knew, but she'd also seen his judgment be severely clouded by traumatic memories.

Dorian chuckled, seemingly not noticing the acid in Fenris's words. River had no doubt he _did;_ he just chose not to react to it. "Push my luck? I was only wondering when the washroom would open back up to the general public."

"It's ours for the next half hour," River said cheerily. Fenris's hands clenched around her thighs, fingertips digging in. "You can always find another one."

"No need. I have a tutoring session to give Nanyehi, anyway." Dorian brushed an invisible piece of lint off the shoulder of his tunic. "Do remember to tidy up after yourselves."

"Dorian," River said, "I swear to Andraste's panties, if you don't keep walking down this hall within five seconds I will convince Finn to wear a chastity belt for the next month."

"Not that he would ever do such a heinous thing, but you've made your point." Dorian continued on his way, giving them a sort of casual farewell wave as he left. "So long, my adventurous, washroom-wrecking compatriots."

Fenris was silent for a moment, then heaved the heaviest, roughest sigh River had ever heard.

"So…" River said, wanting to brush the conversation off rather than belabor it. "Sink?"

"Yes," Fenris said with very little hesitation, carrying her into the washroom and pushing the door shut behind him.

***

"I think it's absolutely hilarious that no one's telling me what's going on," Finn said. "And by that, I mean it's completely not hilarious at all. And by that—"

"I think you've made your opinion clear, Finirial," Leliana said.

Why Leliana had cornered him a few minutes ago and ushered him into one of the estate's private suites, he had zero idea. Even more confusing was when Leliana scooted a chair over to the vanity sink, facing away from it, and ordered him to sit down in it.

"I would be worried for your life, my friend," Zevran said, lounging on a patterned settee with a leonine sort of leisure. "Leliana has that gleam in her eye."

"Oh, shush, you." Leliana tilted Finn's head back, and he immediately felt a rush of cold water hit his hair. "You're lucky Shesi ordered me not to do anything with _your_ hair. She's rather fond of it."

"Such is _mia cara,"_ Zevran said with a mock sigh. "The most threatening midget in all of Thedas."

"Okay," Finn said, "now you're _really_ concerning me."

The spymaster's long, nimble fingers massaged through his hair, working the cold water to his roots and untangling as she went. "Nothing that isn't absolutely necessary. You're much too recognizable as you are without some sort of physical change."

"So, what," Finn said, closing his eyes, "you're giving me a haircut?"

"No," Leliana said. "Your hair should be unkempt for this. As a matter of fact, I'm coloring it."

Finn's eyes shot open and he made an undignified noise.

Zevran chuckled lowly. "I don't think he likes that, my dear."

"What do you mean, _coloring it?"_ Finn said. "Is white hair really that offensive to Orlesians? And why don't I get a say? Please, for the love of all that is good, don't make it pink."

"Not pink," Leliana said. "That would look atrocious on you. Actually, there's a reason I have both of you in here even though I'm not allowed to touch Zevran's hair." The cold water stopped flowing, although she kept kneading her fingers through Finn's wavy hair. "As you may know, the Game is of the highest stakes, and the Inquisition must allocate its people to the best tasks possible. I'm disguising the both of you as servants so the Inquisition has eyes and ears among the elven workers in the Winter Palace."

Finn's tense muscles relaxed somewhat as understanding dawned.

"And I'm too recognizable, like you said." He lifted his hands to study them. "What about the _vallaslin?"_

"I'll admit, your markings are a predicament that continues to stump me." Leliana's hands left Finn's hair, and she turned to the vanity. "Many Orlesians have a sort of cream to smooth over their complexions, and powder, but I highly doubt such a thing could cover those vivid blue lines for such a long time."

"Gods, I would never wear that," Finn said, letting his eyes fall shut once again. Getting a surprise hair coloring was one thing. Fancy face-paste? No way in hell.

"I wouldn't expect you to." Leliana slicked something goopy together in her hands, from the sound of it; this time, Finn was expecting it when she begun smoothing it into his sopping wet hair. "Although at the moment, we're dreadfully short on options. And I must come up with something to do with you before I let you be seen with your new hair color."

"We can't have people realizing you've altered him, can we?" Zevran drawled.

"No." Leliana rubbed the dye deep into the roots of his hair, gathering his formerly ice-white waves into her hands and massaging the dye into every lock of it. "In fact, I want as few people aware of this as possible. Knowledge in too many hands is a loose end. The Inquisitor will know, Josephine…and I fully anticipate you leaking the secret to Shesi, Zevran. Aside from the bare minimum, everyone else in the Inquisition _must_ believe the both of you have missed the ball."

"I hope you know I won't keep this from Dorian," Finn said.

Although he dreaded to think what opinion Dorian might have on the changes. What if altering his hair color and concealing his _vallaslin_ changed his _face,_ made him somehow no longer desirable?

_Look at you, being a worrywart,_ he thought to himself. _It'll be fine. You can't think that way._

"We are lucky Dorian is adept at hiding things," Leliana said, falling silent except for the occasional humming.

"I've been told we won't have to worry about becoming part of the staff, _amico,"_ Zevran mentioned, almost cheerfully. He didn't look bothered by any of the strategizing; Finn suspected it took quite a bit to ruffle his feathers. "We have an 'in', so to speak. All we have to worry about is gathering information. Easy, yes?"

"Easy enough," Finn said, slouching in the chair.

He fell silent for a little while, patiently letting Leliana work on his hair. She washed it once more with cold water, then had him sit up straight so she could dry his hair with a clean towel.

"Damp, but drying," Leliana said triumphantly. "This will do perfectly. Have a look."

Not wanting to prolong it, Finn stood swiftly from the chair, turning to face himself in the vanity's mirror.

He almost jolted back out of shock.

All his life, his hair had grown out of his head as pure white as swan feathers—except for his brows and eyelashes, which for some reason had always been dark. Another bizarre quirk of his. His hair was dark to match now, a rich sort of blackened brown the color of semisweet chocolate. It made the glacier-water blue of his eyes stand out quite a bit against the backdrop of his tanned skin and chocolatey hair; he had to admit that at least Leliana had picked a nice combination.

"Alright, I won't protest," he said. "It's a nice color."

"And one that won't stand out." Leliana sounded pleased. "All that remains is—"

Someone lightly rapped their knuckles on the suite's closed door. "Might I come in?"

"It's unlocked, Josie," Leliana called.

Josephine stepped neatly into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft thud. She turned, found Finn with her amber-brown gaze, and drew her hand to her mouth. "Oh! I hadn't expected Leliana to have finished. You look quite fetching with dark hair, Finn."

Finn smiled. "I'm glad you think so."

" _Stai arrossendo, amica,"_ Zevran told Josephine, smirking wickedly.

" _Basta, per piacere,"_ Josephine told him, her cheeks reddening a dark rose color as she returned her attention to Finn. "Have we settled the matter of your _vallaslin_ yet?"

"No, and we must settle this," Leliana answered for him, striding over to Josephine. "I was lucky finding an appropriately colored dye even with the variety of plants and colors in Orlais, but I'm afraid we have nothing to conceal his tattoos. Any facial cream we might possibly find could potentially rub off during the ball, and I doubt he would consent to wearing it."

"Nope," Finn said, popping the 'p'. "I'm an elf and I'm short. I already look girly enough as it is without women's makeup."

"I'm unsure of what to do, I'll admit." Josephine paced a step. "I could ask Lady Vivienne if there is some spell to conceal them, but what if such a spell faded during the ball? It—"

"I believe I have a third path," Solas said from the doorway.

Four heads turned to look at him; Finn hadn't even heard him open the door, didn't know he'd been listening. What reason could he have to involve himself? And what possible path was there?

"This _was_ a private conversation," Leliana said pointedly, her grey-blue eyes calculating.

"And I must have one with Finirial, at the moment." Solas didn't waver under her scrutiny. "One that will provide you your answers."

Finn stood without hesitation. "Lead the way, _lethallin."_

***

Whoever this nobleman was—Finn _really_ should've made some effort to at least learn his name before he and Dorian desecrated one of his bedrooms—the guy had beautiful gardens.

It wasn't so much of a formal garden as it was a winding pathway around the estate grounds, paved by scattered flagstones and lined thickly with colorful and fragrant plants of all sorts. Finn smelled tea roses, jasmine, and lavender, letting his hand brush some willow leaves as he followed Solas.

"Any reason you're taking me to some sort of oddly romantic location?" Finn teased. " _Solas._ I had no idea."

"Your mind travels to all manner of astounding places," Solas said in return, stopping under the dappled shade of an oak and turning to face Finn. "I brought you here because the grounds offer a place of privacy—unlike the inside of the estate, where we might have been assaulted by potentially anyone."

"So," Finn said, leaning on one hip and feeling a cool breeze stir his drying hair, "what did you want to say?"

"Would you like to sit?" Solas gestured to a nearby rock.

"I'm fine on my feet."

"Very well." Solas nodded. "I will not delay the point of the conversation, Finirial. I know a spell. To take the _vallaslin_ away."

"That's fantastic—wait." Finn furrowed his brows. "Take it…away?"

"Yes. The spell is permanent. Your _vallaslin_ will not reappear on your skin when the magic has been cast."

Finn did his absolute best not to stutter or stammer. "Wait, but…I know I've been kind of questioning my old clan's beliefs and all, but these markings are important to me. Other Dalish wouldn't even consider me an adult if they didn't know me and they saw a bare face. And the _vallaslin_ are to honor the gods, right? Even if—"

"They are not," Solas said firmly.

Finn fell silent.

"Your face. The _vallaslin."_ Solas clasped his hands behind his back. "In my journeys in the Fade, I have seen things. I have discovered what those marks mean, the truth of it. And I thought that you deserved to know they are slave markings."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, Solas and the garden and everything blurring in front of Finn's eyes; he wasn't certain how he remained on his feet without wobbling.

"You're…certain?" He was only half aware of the rather pathetic plaintiveness in his own voice. "I've been marked like a slave since I was fifteen years old and I was _proud_ of it? I let my little sister undergo the same tattooing?"

"It was a process I have witnessed in memories of ancient Arlathan," Solas explained. His expression, though mild, was not unkind. "They _were_ for the gods, in a sense. A noble would mark his slaves to honor the god he worshiped. After Arlathan fell…the Dalish forgot."

"Fucking hell," Finn muttered, finding the boulder near them and sitting on it. "Never mind that 'I'm fine on my feet' part." He exhaled sharply. "Hilarious, isn't it? The one thing every Dalish elf is so damn proud of receiving is a relic of slavery and oppression. The one thing we've always been so _against_."

Solas's brows furrowed just slightly. "I did not tell you this to hurt you. Nor to give you any sense of blame you should not carry."

Suddenly weary, Finn scrubbed his face with his hands. "If not for the masquerade, would you have ever told me this?"

Eventually," Solas said. "You are…important, Finirial. And you deserve the truth, although I did not intend to cause pain with it. I will gladly perform the spell, if you like. It will be as if you were never given the _vallaslin_ at all."

_Breathe._ In, out. In, out. In…

"Take it away," Finn said, surprising himself with the conviction in his voice. "Just from my face. Give me some time to think about the rest of it."

"You may be interested to know that the slave markings were typically _only_ on the face," Solas said. "Full body tattooing appears to be something your clan invented on its own. Regardless, it is your choice in the matter. Stand, please."

Finn obliged and stood.

"This will sting," Solas said.

His hands lifted, palms forward, in front of Finn's face and only a couple of inches away; Finn closed his eyes and braced himself. Magic washed over his face, pleasantly hot at first but then firing like hot pins and needles; he cringed, his brows drawing together, but he didn't make a noise.

A relic from his time receiving the tattoos in the first place, possibly. Making any sort of noise then would've been construed as a sign of immaturity. Maybe Finn still thought of it as such.

"You bear it well," Solas said. The burning magic faded, and Finn's head cleared. " _Ar lasa mala revas."_

_You are free._

***

Finn's face felt like it had been seared with a brand, every nerve-ending raw and on fire as he entered the estate through a back doorway and padded silently along the hallway. He caught sight of a hanging mirror and peered into it, half expecting angry red burns where his _vallaslin_ had once been.

Nothing of the sort. Nothing there at all except his _face,_ devoid of June's blue _vallaslin,_ the marks that had declared him an adult at fifteen and allowed him to join the war against the darkspawn in Denerim. His face looked strange to him without it, more youthful than it should've been considering his twenty-six years…and he'd forgotten about the faint dusting of freckles across his nose, hadn't he?

No Dalish would recognize him as one of their own anymore. He was just a tanned elf with dark hair and vivid blue eyes—pretty, maybe, but nothing special beyond that.

At least he'd kept the _vallaslin_ covering the rest of his body in sweeping cerulean lines. Maybe he could use that as evidence, should someone ask. And the tattoos _could_ be reapplied, technically speaking, but the process had been excruciating the first time he'd done it. Not to mention he and Nanyehi had no guarantees of ever returning to the clan.

_Nor would I want to,_ he thought, a smile creeping onto his face despite himself. _Dorian wouldn't be there. It doesn't really matter, does it?_

Why give a shit if someone called him a flat-ear?

In slightly better spirits—but still feeling odd and awfully bare-faced—Finn continued down the hall.

He saw Cassandra and Cullen walking the opposite way through the hall, engrossed in a discussion about outfitting the Inquisition's attending troops for the upcoming masquerade ball. Finn looked up to greet them when they crossed paths, but neither seemed to notice him; he slipped wordlessly past Cullen's side, blinking.

So Leliana's disguise worked on at least two people, and those people _knew_ him.

That _was_ a good thing, he knew. Still, not being recognized by his sister's close friend and confidant, and the man currently _courting_ his sister…weird feeling.

A little edgy and disconcerted now, Finn kept going, picking up his stride.

He had to get used to this for the masquerade. Once there, he and Zevran would have to be faceless, unimportant servants for the good of the Inquisition. At least he wasn't doing it alone; he felt inordinately glad for the promise of Zevran's company and aid throughout the event. It wasn't unheard of for elven servants to work in pairs, he was pretty certain, so if he and—

"And just where are _you_ rushing off to?" Dorian's voice startled Finn out of his contemplating, and a hand fisted in the back of Finn's tunic and pulled him backwards. "Here I was thinking you'd winked right into nonexistence since this morning."

He must've been so deep in thought that he'd nearly passed right by his and Dorian's guest room without even knowing. Shifting to stay balanced on his feet, he found himself looking up into Dorian's stone-grey eyes, still held by the back of his tunic.

"I've been…occupied," Finn said.

"I see that now." Dorian let go of Finn's tunic and lifted his hand, brushing the backs of his fingers against Finn's cheek where the _vallaslin_ had once been. "I hadn't pictured you a brunette before, but I must admit you look quite handsome with dark hair."

"And you _recognized_ me," Finn said, smiling widely.

"Obviously." Dorian gave him a distinct ' _what a silly thing to say'_ expression. "I hope it doesn't come as a surprise that I've spent enough time studying you to know what you look like even with a few cosmetic changes."

"I just…" Finn shifted up onto the balls of his feet and kissed Dorian soundly on the lips. "Thank you."

"Mmm, I do like how you show your gratitude." Dorian smirked and bent down for another kiss; longer this time, fingers weaving through Finn's chocolatey hair.

"And I have a lot of it, for that," Finn said when Dorian pulled back. "I have a lot on my mind right now, actually. Could we talk?"

"You needn't have to ask," the Tevene mage said, tugging Finn further into the room and shutting the door behind him.

No sense in stalling. "Leliana is disguising me and Zevran as servants for the masquerade," he said. "So, as you can obviously tell, she had my hair dyed and my facial _vallaslin_ removed. I suppose it should alarm me that you recognized me so easily…but Cassandra and Cullen didn't, so I'll take that as promising evidence."

Dorian tsked his tongue. "Your eyes alone _are_ remarkably recognizable, _amatus._ If you don't want to be exposed in front of countless Orlesians for trickery and fraud, you might do well to keep your head down as you go about your business."

_Amatus?_ Finn had never heard that word before, although it sounded Tevene and it made an odd tingle rush up his spine. He made a mental note to ask about it later; maybe Krem or Fenris could tell him what it meant.

"So I should hide my eyes, as opposed to pouting handsomely at everyone and batting my lashes?" Finn teased. "If there _is_ such a thing as pouting handsomely. Might be made up."

Dorian gave a sigh of mock indignation. "Whatever _term_ you use for it, that expression of yours is a dangerous weapon and you really shouldn't unleash it on the populace."

Finn chuckled. "You just want it all to yourself."

"I won't argue that," Dorian said with a low laugh. "But, once again, we've managed to thoroughly derail the point of this conversation. You said your tattoos were… _removed?"_

"Yeah." Finn sighed heavily. "That's the part that kind of threw me for a loop."

"Who did it? And how so?"

"Solas," Finn said. "Apparently he picked up a spell from in the Beyond that let him erase _vallaslin_ lines where he wanted to. They…" He broke off for a moment. "They were slave markings, once. In ancient Arlathan. Slaves were branded with the markings of whichever god their owner worshiped." He laughed bitterly. "Look at me, wearing slave tattoos on my face for eleven years of my life."

"That doesn't _make_ you a slave, you know." Dorian stepped closer and rubbed Finn's arms, his left hipbone bumping against Finn's right. "Although I can imagine why it disconcerted you."

"But…you're right." And that was why he'd only erased them from his face, wasn't it? He idly fingered one of the buckles over Dorian's chest as he thought. "Wearing _shokra-taar_ wouldn't make me Qunari. Imitating a finch's whistle doesn't make me a finch. I may be painted all over like slaves used to be, but that doesn't matter because I'm _not_ one."

"Hm, no, you'd make an atrocious slave," Dorian said, his eyes softening. "The first time you uttered a marathon length curse would likely be your last. Not to mention _you,_ martyrish as you are, would probably volunteer yourself for a blood ritual and die horribly."

"Gee, Dorian, I'm so relieved you pointed those things out," Finn quipped. "Looks like I'll have to find a new career path now. A whole life's worth of dreaming and planning, down the drain. I hope you're pleased with yourself."

The human mage smirked. "Immensely." He fluffed Finn's hair; he must've liked the color well enough. "Were you going to tell your sister of what you learned? Your clan, perhaps?"

"I'll _think_ about telling Nani," Finn said. "My old clan, though? Nah. What's the point in wrecking such a big part of Dalish culture just because things _used_ to be different and terrible? Someone else can be the bearer of that news if they want. I won't do it."

"Hm, I don't blame you for your reticence on the matter."

"You mean mulish obstinance," Finn said. "Anyway…about the masquerade? You can't act like you know me. Not until we have a huge amount of political sway over everyone there, which might never happen, so…yeah. Once the party starts, I have to be just another elven servant to you."

Dorian's expression soured.

"I'd expected as much," he said. "Not the easiest of tasks, though. Who am I supposed to complain about the quality of the food to?"

" _Dorian,"_ Finn chided. " _Anyone_ could fill that role."

"I know." Dorian cupped his hand behind Finn's neck and leaned down, pressing a long kiss to the top of his head and inhaling deeply. "Hmm…raspberries? Orlesian hair dye is the strangest substance. I have no idea why it's scented."

"So I can smell like a fruit salad and attract bees." Unable to refrain from it, Finn smiled widely, enjoying being close to Dorian for what could potentially be the last time in a couple days. Not the longest time gap ever, but Finn was easily as clingy as your most persistent varieties of mold. "Go in there and show everyone why they're dicks for stereotyping all Tevinters, alright?"

"A manageable task, I should think," Dorian said. "Oh, and Finn? You should be aware—elves aren't necessarily treated with respect in Orlesian establishments. Should you need anything from me, I _will_ be there. You have but to ask. Or make suggestive eye contact."

"Will do," Finn said, chuckling. "I'll be fine, but…will do. Oh, and before you ask…"

"Before I ask what?"

Finn grinned mischievously. "The _vallaslin_ is only gone from my face. Which means your favorite tattoo lines on my arse are still there."

"Maker be praised," Dorian said, laughing, as he grabbed the sides of Finn's tunic and swept him forward into a rough kiss.


	52. Silk and Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so, I completely abandoned those red and blue military suits they make you wear in the game. Ahem.
> 
> Also! A couple of my Wardens show in this chapter. If a face is unfamiliar to you, it is probably them. I have an Origins fic running on my ffnet with all my Wardens in it, if you're at all curious about them.
> 
> (If you feel like you missed something, there's two freshly updated chapters before this!)

Nanyehi caught sight of herself in a mirror only minutes after she'd been formally introduced to the attendees of the masquerade ball in Halamshiral.

She hardly recognized the elf who stared back at her from her reflection in the shimmering glass. The creature meeting her gaze was an exquisite one, eyes of bottomless aquamarine lined with expertly drawn black kohl, thick and glossy burgundy hair twisted and pinned and braided with a sleek cascade of it draped over her right shoulder. It was long enough to brush her ribcage now, when she moved, perfumed with raspberries and blackcurrant. The ornate, golden phoenix pin just behind her pointed ear glimmered and glistened as it caught the dimmer indoor light—a symbol, if anyone paid close enough attention. _You rose from the ashes,_ Leliana had said. _They would do well to be reminded of that._

And her dress, she thought, might easily be worth as much as the Inquisition itself. Hues of peacock-teal and royal blue and emerald green, embroidered with shimmering golden thread in delicate, looping scrollwork, its fabric silken and flowing like river water. It rose to a high mandarin collar at her neck, a narrow teardrop cutout just beneath the collar to show off the smooth porcelain skin of her clavicle down to her chest. The skirts gracefully flowed about her hips, neither clingy nor obstructive like a ball gown.

Last of the puzzle-pieces was a small mask of the same silken material and color, embroidered golden around its pleasingly curved edges. It sloped over the bridge of her nose and not beneath it, only making the pretense of covering her eyes, although the cat-eye shaped openings over each eye showed too much to really be concealing.

She'd _almost_ gotten away with going barefoot. At the last moment Josephine had produced a pair of slippers that were barely more than elegant golden weaving around her feet and ankles; Nani had acquiesced to those.

Leliana had given her advice before she'd entered Halamshiral's indoor grounds— _be vague. Be feminine. Be powerful. Strip everyone of their secrets and best them without their knowledge of it. They'll be expecting you to fail, since you're Dalish; prove them wrong._

She held on to the words like a mantra, folding her hands crisply in front of her as she strode leisurely through the large hall, listening to nobles chatter around her.

Sure, she had to be the face of the Inquisition and make all of the important decisions. Very likely the fate of Empress Celene lay in her hands. And yet, as the rest of the Inquisition worked their respective roles in secret, she had to soundlessly pull the focus off of them.

Someone who hadn't been raised among the wild green woods and gusting winds might've enjoyed the inside of Halamshiral. The palace was exquisite, spotless marble floors beneath her feet, elven servants bustling about with trays of juices and champagne and tarts and other delicacies. Still, Nani could hardly call this a comfortable setting.

_Steady,_ she reminded herself. _Shoulders back, head high. They can't do anything to you. Not if you don't let them._

"Is that the Inquisitor?" a nameless noblewoman said from behind Nanyehi as she strolled along the hall; she didn't turn to look. "Oh, she's quite lovely."

"Surely you don't mean to compliment a Dalish savage," the other noblewoman said.

"Mercy me," said the first. "I never implied the two things were mutually exclusive."

"Do you think she was truly chosen by Andraste?"

"An elf? Heavens."

_Don't indulge anyone who tries to get your goat by insulting you,_ Dorian had told her, during their makeshift tutoring session. _They're only trying to rile you up. Oh, and answer every question with a question of your own. It's positively maddening and they hate it because they do it_ themselves. _Fun to use their own tricks on them, yes?_

"Inquisitor Lavellan." Gaspard du Puis, the Empress's cousin whom many feared would usurp the throne from under Celene, strode over to Nanyehi and outstretched his hand. She offered hers in return, obediently, and he kissed her knuckles. "I do not believe I had a moment to tell you how lovely you look."

"Thank you," Nani said cordially, nodding her head in polite acquiescence. He'd been the one to provide the Inquisition with invitations to the masquerade, so she owed him pleasant chatter at the very least. "Are you enjoying the party thus far?"

"Truthfully, I hate these gatherings as much as I hate the Game," Gaspard said, clasping his hands behind his back; warrior's hands, she'd felt when he grasped hers. Strong and calloused. "But, if one refuses to play the Game, one loses it." He offered her a crooked half-smile, took a step back, and bowed. "Enjoy the festivities, Lady Lavellan."

"And you," Nani said.

She'd much rather be the one doing reconnaissance at the moment—just as Finn and Zevran were doing—but she was needed out here. As far as she knew, Iron Bull was putting his Ben-Hassrath training to good use and studying the nobles for any nonverbal clues regarding the potential assassin in their midst; that was good. Varric was somewhere, charming the nobles who read his books and attempting to weasel information out of them. Vivienne and Dorian were socializing, doing what they did well whether they admitted it or not—manipulating. Blackwall had opted to station himself with Cullen, managing the troops they'd brought to the party, and Solas…well, who knew what he was doing. Same with Cole; Nani couldn't even be certain he was _here._

Last she'd seen Cassandra, the warmaiden was doing her best not to fidget with her tailored tunic and breeches, looking absolutely disgusted with life. Sera seemed to be having more fun eating frilly cakes at the moment; Nani had left her be.

Speaking of Cassandra…

"Truthfully," the warmaiden was saying somewhere near Nani, her Nevarran accent unmistakable, "I had no idea you would be present to take part in these… _festivities_."

"What else are festivities _for,_ Lady Pentaghast, if not to be taken part of?" replied an obviously Antivan voice, rich and deep in tone.

"I suppose that wasn't my question," Cassandra said. Nani paused to listen, not looking quite yet. "My surprise has more to do with your presence. No one knew where you were."

The Antivan man chuckled, deceptively warmly. "Ah, but _I_ have always known where I was. Although I suppose the mystery was much more thrilling from your point of view."

"You are remarkable at avoiding my questions," Cassandra said, her tone shortening.

"I am remarkable at many things, you'll note," said the Antivan. "And you'll also note that you never quite posed any _questions_."

Cassandra sighed. "Semantics aside, I thought it obvious that I was seeking answers when I made those statements."

"Never make assumptions in the company of an Antivan, my dear. You will always end up, at the least, sorely disappointed. At the most? Divested of your clothes, your dignity, and possibly your life. And we don't want that, do we?"

"Has anyone told you you're rather infuriating?"

"Oh, many times. It's one of my finer qualities." The man chuckled again. "But we have an onlooker, don't we?"

Nani had been trying to subtly eavesdrop without overtly looking at them; so much for subtlety.

Caught, she turned to look.

And kept looking, as if she'd just spotted an exquisite piece of art rather than a human being.

The Antivan man was absolutely striking, no doubt about that. His skin color matched Josephine's—smooth, darkened like deep russet caramel—but his eyes didn't. Never mind that just like her, his eyes were exotic and almond-shaped; his had a cunning edge to them, irises a peculiar blend of cat's-eye gold welling up from pure black like bright light rising from the bottom of a dark pool. Wavy, glossy black hair, nice build that spoke of physical capability, wearing an ornately made doublet in arabesque patterns of crimson, brandywine, and light-catching gold embroidery.

Not to mention the self-satisfied look on his face that rather reminded her of a cat basking in sunlight. And no mask—interesting. Maybe he didn't need one.

"Inquisitor," Cassandra said. "Let me introduce you to—"

"No need," the Antivan said, smiling disarmingly. He bowed halfway with a flourish of his hand. "Warden-Commander Corvis Nalida da Rialto, at your service. _Piacere di conoscerla,_ Inquisitor."

What in the—was Ferelden's Commander of the Grey supposed to be here?

Caught off guard, Nani almost forgot to introduce herself properly.

"Inquisitor Nanyehi Lavellan," she returned, curtsying. "Pleasure to meet you. Might we have a moment alone to talk?"

"I'll leave you be," Cassandra said, shooting Corvis a look that was half curt and half curious as she turned and strode away.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Corvis said, turning his attention fully to her.

_I can't tell if he's actually friendly or if it's a ruse,_ Nani thought. She'd heard about the Warden-Commander's silver tongue before; not to mention Antivans seemed to be innately good at manipulation, if Josephine's skills with diplomacy were any indication.

"Might I ask how you came to be in Halamshiral?" Nani said.

"You might," Corvis said, plucking a half-full glass of red wine from the end table next to him and taking a sip.

"And I suppose you won't actually answer it."

"Well, now, if you begin making suppositions, won't they come true?" Corvis smirked and set the wine glass down.

"Are Wardens generally involved in politics?" Nani asked. She knew the answer to that.

"If you're trying to tweak an answer out of me, you might as well call it a day," he said. "There are a vast many reasons to attend a ball in Halamshiral, I assure you."

Shite, he'd seen right through her. She'd expected him to answer her statement with something more like 'oh, no, I'm here for such and such reason instead'…but no dice.

"I think it'd benefit us both if we knew which side the other was on," she tried. Control or chaos? Peace or war? She knew her Inquisition wanted peace, wanted to prevent Empress Celene's assassination...but it was harder to deduce _sides_ when a Grey Warden was involved.

"Oh, but yours is obvious," he said, leaning his weight on one hip. "The Inquisition would not be here for the fine cheeses. There must be a matter involving both Corypheus and the Orlesian throne. Evidently, you search for someone or something that threatens to swing Orlais into chaos, and you intend to stop them."

"Impressive," Nani said.

"Oh? I wouldn't say so." He crossed obviously toned arms loosely over his chest. "As you personally experienced, the Orlesian Wardens failed miserably with regards to the Corypheus conundrum, despite 'prevention of Blight and chaos' being quite literally our purpose. Naturally, we remaining Wardens are tied to the same chaos as you, in some form or another." He tsked his tongue. "Yet my own reasons for attending the masquerade have very little bearing on my unsavory opinions of the world's current crisis, Inquisitor."

"And those opinions are? Specifically?" Nani pressed him.

"I will say _this_ much. The Wardens of Ferelden are prepared to offer you assistance in defeating Corypheus. Which form this assistance takes…is entirely up to future events."

She almost breathed a sigh of relief. "You have my thanks."

"Sir," said an elven servant, who briskly approached them and stopped just short of Corvis's side, "we're—" He stopped, looking at Nanyehi. "—currently out of the De Firmin cabernet."

Nani's eyes narrowed. The servant's trim but muscular build struck her as out-of-place, and she recognized a distinctly Fereldan accent, Denerim-centric. His hair was a rich brown the color of brandy, woven into a loose braid that just barely reached between his shoulder blades. She'd gotten a flash of vivid eyes, apple-green, before he'd reverted his gaze to Corvis.

Barely noticeable scars on his arms, faded; this elf had been in fights before and won them.

"No matter," Corvis said, lifting an eyebrow. "The _cabernet_ will eventually turn up."

"Straight away, mi'lord," the servant said, bowing once and leaving.

Nani watched the servant go; he didn't walk like a typical downtrodden servant, all hunched shoulders and glowers. This one walked with proud-set shoulders and a smooth warrior's stride.

Former career, maybe? Or…

"Trying the wines, I see," she said to Corvis. "I should introduce you to a good friend of mine. He's a bit of a wine aficionado."

"Then I'm certain he's sampled the pinot grigio and been utterly saddened by it," Corvis said in response, watching people roam about the room with an almost lazy expression. "Notes of pear, disappointment, and halfassery."

"That's…not a word."

"If I say it enough, it becomes one. Funny how that works."

Nani blinked, then shook her head to clear it. _I need Dorian's help if I'm going to get any more information out of the Warden-Commander. He must know something about Corypheus that we don't._ "I think I'll call over my friend so you can meet him. I'm sure he'd love to talk to you."

"I'll be here," Corvis said with a crooked grin. "Presumably."

"As you were, Commander." She remembered to curtsy, then strode off in search of Dorian.

***

A glass of bubbling champagne in her hand, Shesi Mahariel meandered through the ballroom, idly listening to the overly fancy introductions for each overly fancy noble.

She fit in here about as well as an Orzammar dwarf fit in with a mountain-climbing expedition. Unlike a couple other of her Warden brethren—namely Corvis and Palla—Shesi had always felt odd and uncomfortable at large social gatherings, especially masquerades. Not to mention she didn't have Zevran at her side to ease her mind and bear it with her.

_You'd never survive long-term without him,_ she chided herself with a small shake of her head; not that she had any intention of altering it.

It had taken poor Josephine ages, bless her, to find a gown tailored to Shesi's height and small stature. Luckily she'd had one made of silk the color of a pine forest with silvery accents; pretty, decently comfortable, didn't pool around her feet. Shesi could be content in it.

She'd just escaped a long-winded conversation with two noblemen about the battle atop Fort Drakon—and reminded them that no, Palla Cousland had driven the final blow into the Archdemon's skull, not her—and she had no intention of being sucked into another one. Conversation exhausted her, with the exception of a very few people.

Ellie, though, seemed to be having a good time.

Shesi spotted her sister-in-arms standing with Leliana and a few nameless noblewomen, smiling and chatting animatedly. The elven healer's wheat-blonde hair had been braided into an elegant updo, wavy tendrils hanging to frame her face. Ellie's and Leliana's gowns complemented each other nicely, Shesi had to notice—Ellie's of sunset blush and rose pink and cream, Leliana's of cornflower blue and crisp white and gold.

Best to leave them to their socializing. Leliana, skilled Orlesian bard as she was, could play an audience like a lute. And Ellie was all big brown eyes and pleasant smiles and kind words; crowds tended to like her, despite her being elven _and_ a mage.

A servant brushed against her arm, and Shesi waited a moment, then turned wordlessly and ventured out of the open ballroom into a deserted hallway. _Deserted_ because it'd been roped off; she ducked under the rope with ease and straightened up on the other side.

"Good of you to join me, _mia cara,"_ Zevran said, slipping under the rope after her and straightening as well.

His hair had been darkened somewhat from its usual silvery blond with soot; it'd been the only compromise they'd settled with Leliana for. One didn't simply alter an Antivan's appearance without kicking up a storm, so to speak.

"News?" Shesi asked. "Aren't you with Finn?"

"I'll rejoin him in a moment," Zevran said, smiling crookedly. "Ah, but I _do_ have news you might find of interest. It appears our handsome Warden-Commander decided to make an appearance at this humble gathering."

"Corvis is here?" Shesi needn't have phrased it as a question, rhetorical as it was, but surprise had made her do so anyway. "Last I spoke with him, he'd been—"

"—planning on continuing the hunt with Palla for the Calling cure, yes? I remember." Zevran cast his dark golden gaze towards the ballroom. "Something must have prompted him to give her the search and come here."

"Some _one,"_ Shesi corrected.

Zevran lifted an eyebrow, then nodded knowingly.

"I hope he knows I'm going to give him a very half-assed smack for not telling me his plans," she continued. "After I hug the daylights out of him, that is."

Zevran chuckled. "And I'm certain you will have ample opportunity."

Shesi nodded, smiling. "I'm sure Leliana already knows he's here and is adjusting her scheming accordingly. Although I'm not sure she knows _why_ he's here." She scrubbed the back of her neck in thought. "I'll let her piece it together himself. Corvis doesn't like having his motives exposed, and it's not exactly his fault I know him so damn well."

"We Antivans _do_ enjoy our smokescreens," Zevran said.

"Anything else noteworthy?" she asked.

He shifted his weight to one hip and tapped his foot. "Aside from there being so much _delicious_ gossip floating about? Nothing of note. Finn and I are waiting for a lead to follow before we jump into any investigating. For now, we play the parts of servants—serving drinks, listening to complaints…" He wrapped an arm around her waist and abruptly drew her close with a devious smirk. "…admiring beautiful elven women in very lovely dresses."

Shesi grinned, lacing her fingers together behind his neck. "Flatterer."

"Ah, such as I am." Zevran grinned wickedly and bent to kiss her, firmly and for several seconds. "Although I can't help but picture how lovely the dress might look in a clump on the floor."

"And you were doing _so_ well," Shesi said in mock admonishment, patting his chest. "If we get out of this palace with our dignities intact, you can tear the damned thing to shreds for all I care. Just don't tell Josephine. We'll have to bury it and erase the evidence."

"I've always loved the way you think, _gattina."_ He pressed one last kiss to her lips, then pulled away with obvious reluctance. "But I must return to my supposed duties, it seems. Such woe."

"You take care of yourself," she insisted. "None of the classic Zevran devil-may-care crap. I'd trust a dragon before I trusted highborn Orlesians."

"Don't you worry," he said, "I'll take care of myself _and_ Finn, should he need it."

Then he left her, melting back into the obscurity of fake servitude.


	53. Mockingbird, Crow, Sparrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. I'm tweaking quests again. Big surprise. :P
> 
> Also! I do not speak French, and while I do my best, any Orlesian dialogue might not be perfect.
> 
> (If you feel like you missed something, there's three freshly updated chapters before this!)

Finn balanced a tray of filled champagne flutes on one hand, weaving slowly around the crowd of Orlesians and stopping only to allow the errant person or two to pluck glasses off the tray. He could've played it safe and gripped the tray with both hands to avoid spilling if he possibly bumped someone…but Finn hadn't played it safe his entire life. Why start now?

He trusted his own balance and dexterity, regardless. His muscles had never lost coordination, never failed him in these situations.

"Elf," a nobleman in a blue and white doublet said, snapping his fingers and gesturing Finn over. "I've not sampled the champagne yet."

" _Oui, monsieur,"_ Finn said, briefly walking over to allow the Orlesian to take a champagne flute; the man brought it to his lips to sip it and waved Finn off with a dismissive flick of his hand. Happy enough to leave, Finn turned to keep meandering through the ballroom and main halls.

He had to wait for someone's signal before he and Zevran could slip out of the bulk of the party and investigate elsewhere. For now, Leliana said playing the part of the servant would require _actual_ serving. Lying was not merely a vocal skill.

The disguise—chocolate hair, plain servant's garb with long sleeves to cover what remained of his _vallaslin—_ seemed to be working fairly well. Finn made sure to avoid the more perceptive members of the Inquisition, but the partygoers seemed to be none the wiser.

Of course, the other servants he'd been seeing around the party seemed a tad suspicious of him. Luckily, Finn could mimic sounds and accents fairly well and he'd been sticking to an Orlesian accent since he and Zevran had arrived, so no one's suspicions appeared to have risen past the casual level. He knew it was only a matter of time, though.

Not that the servants probably gave a shit about who he and Zevran really _were._

He skirted around a group of giggling women, the heavy scent of rose perfume filling his nose. Then he found the reason for their giggling: Commander Cullen, leaning against a wall and looking like he was valiantly resisting suicidal urges, currently swatting a nobleman's hand off his arse.

Poor man. Finn hid a chuckle by turning his head and kept going.

"You," someone with a raspy Orlesian accent said, grabbing Finn's sleeve; he steadied himself and turned, suddenly face to face with a servant in similar garb. An elf, obviously, although this one had short hair the color of a copper pan. "Are you going into the servant's quarters?"

"Not at the moment," Finn said. "Why?"

The servant shook his head. "Don't. None of the elves who've gone in there have come out."

"Thanks for the warning," Finn said, offering a quick smile; the servant let go of his arm with a nod and the two idly parted ways.

_That's exactly where I need to be,_ Finn thought, scanning the crowds for Zevran.

Nani might've chided him for how alarmingly awful his survival instincts were. _The only Dalish elf absolutely hell bent on violent suicide,_ she'd always said with a shake of her head. And yet, wasn't this his job? Somewhere in this crowd lingered Corypheus's assassin, waiting to strike down on Empress Celene; somewhere else in this crowd, elven spies were apparently roaming throughout Halamshiral with almost no one the wiser. Grand Duke Gaspard wanted the throne and might potentially do _anything_ to get it—yet, would it be so terrible for him to rule Orlais? Who _should_ rule Orlais?

Gods, politics gave him such a headache.

Deciding to forego the champagne distributing for now, Finn set the tray on a nearby table and kept walking to avoid anyone questioning why the elf was suddenly shirking his duties.

Well—not that the walking _worked._

It seemed the milling nobles in the palace were committed to making some sort of condescending comment when he slipped past them. "Ugh, elves. Good for nothing," he heard a woman say with a dignified huff. Another watched him walk by with disgust and muttered a "begone, knife-ear."

_Tough crowd,_ Finn thought, trying not to grow annoyed as he ducked out of the large party hall and onto a small fenced balcony overlooking the gardens.

How different Halamshiral must've been, years and years ago, when it belonged to the elven people. Orlesian royalty had put its elegant mark on the land now. Finn could see well past the gardens and into Orlais's rolling countryside, acres of green fields and grapevines and forested glens. The sky had taken on a watercolor cast of blurred, darkening tangerine and rosy pink as the sun dipped towards the horizon.

Romantic view, one could say. Finn crossed his arms loosely over his chest and let himself admire it for a moment.

By the sound of two pairs of footfalls approaching behind him, Finn hadn't been the only one who'd decided to take advantage of the view.

"Knife-ear," a nobleman said, crisply snapping his fingers, and Finn turned, watching him step onto the balcony with his arm around a pretty woman with blonde hair and a dark ball-gown. "Don't you have duties to attend to? Leave us to the balcony and scurry off."

" _Sorry_ ," Finn said, probably a bit more curtly than he should've, and moved to walk off the balcony.

He didn't reach the doors, or even get past the noble; the man muttered a harsh " _espèce d'imbécile_ _"_ and slapped him across the face, accompanied by a sharp but dainty gasp from the woman.

Finn's eyes squeezed shut and his head cracked to the side from the blow, teeth snapping together. Pain lanced through his head, then rattled around like a marble in a bowl.

"Shove a baguette up your butt, you snail-fucking wanker," he snapped, ears ringing, straightening and glaring up at the noble. His vision was freckled white from the blow to his face…but he could see well enough to know the noble hadn't expected him to snap back and wasn't particularly happy about that turn of events.

_Whoops,_ Finn thought, _my Free-Marcher is showing._

" _Excuse_ me?" the noble hissed. "Do you know who you speak to, vermin?"

"Yeah," Finn said. "I'm literally talking to a piece of shit and I'm not even near a washroom."

"I've half a mind to cut off your ears and feed them to dogs," the noble growled, taking a rushed step towards Finn.

More frustrated than anything at this point, Finn backed out the doors into the party hall. He _could've_ easily given the noble a piece of his mind with a bit—or a lot—of magic, but a violent altercation at the party wouldn't do the Inquisition any favors.

"Merry Wintersend," he said, flipping the noble off with both hands, backing up further—and running straight back into someone else's chest.

"Ah, there you are, _amico."_ Zevran's voice, unmistakably. "Causing a scene?"

Finn eyed the noble, who shook his head disgustedly at him for taking makeshift shelter inside the party hall and then swept the blonde woman in for a kiss with entirely too much tongue.

"Just livening up the party," Finn said, turning to face Zevran and offering a crooked smile in greeting. "I'm—"

Zevran lifted a brow. "Is there a particular reason half your face is flushed?"

Well. Zevran noticed everything. "What if I said my delicate virgin soul blushes at the sight of people kissing?"

"And so you blush with only one side of your face in the shape of a handprint."

"I like to do things differently."

"You are a riot, my friend." Zevran chuckled, then began walking and motioned Finn to follow along. "Come now. I believe we have places to be and things to do."

"Yeah," Finn said, matching his pace. "About that—apparently elves are running into a bit of trouble in the servants' quarters."

Zevran grinned. "Exactly the place we need to be, don't you think? I wonder if this has anything to do with the supposed elven spies of Ambassador Briala's running around the party."

"Who?" Finn said.

The Antivan assassin chuckled. "I'll explain."

***

The servants' quarters were strikingly barren compared to the other parts of the Winter Palace that Finn had already seen. Beautifully sculpted walls devoid of any paintings or tapestries, a few piles of scattered crates, a couple errant shelves covered in a thin film of dust.

The only piece of adornment in the entry room Finn and Zevran stepped into were the two bloodied corpses.

Finn was no expert in patterns of decay, but he knew from the lack of a putrid stench that the corpses were quite freshly killed. And, judging by the lithe frames and pointed ears, elven. So people _were_ disappearing into the servants' quarters—disappearing right into the afterlife.

"You've got your knives?" he asked Zevran in a hushed voice.

" _Si_ ," Zevran said. "It appears I may need them. Let's examine the bodies, shall we?"

Lovely. Finn nodded, following Zevran's lead.

The assassin knelt at one of the elven corpses, his boots just inches from a spatter of darkening crimson blood. The elf directly in front of him had died on her belly, limbs flown askew, brown hair tangled and knotted with drying blood. Without hesitation Zevran reached for the corpse and rolled it onto its back, exposing the elf's clouded, unseeing eyes as they stared unfocused at the ceiling.

"Not dead more than an hour or so, I should think," Zevran said. His nimble tanned fingers found a tear at the front of her tunic, just to the right of her breastbone. "Ah, knife wound. See? Small, straight puncture with clean edges."

"Could've been anyone," Finn supplied.

"Not so." Zevran pointed to the corpse's arm. "See this?"

Finn stooped to peer closer. "…char marks. She was burned."

"And thus, we…"

"…are dealing with a mage. Or, _mages."_ Finn straightened up, feeling cold ice pulse through his bloodstream and chill his hands.

"I was wondering when the party would pick up its pace," Zevran said with a wry smile, standing. "How fun. Well, off we go. I think we have errant mages to introduce ourselves too."

"Corypheus's people?" Finn asked.

"Possibly. Although if his _assassini_ are murdering elves rather than Empress Celene, their powers of recognition are astonishingly terrible." Zevran stepped out of the entry room through a doorway into the next, and Finn followed.

Kitchens. Nothing special here, except for a whole lot of abandoned food on the long tables situated in the middle of the room. Finn spied a clump of unpeeled onions, apples, a few loaves of what looked like sourdough, a large wheel of yellow cheese, and several baskets of garlic breadsticks.

He snatched up a breadstick as he and Zevran passed the table, taking a bite.

Zevran cast a look over his shoulder.

"What?" Finn said, swallowing. "It was going to waste."

"Are you fond of putting things in your mouth at random times?" the Antivan said with a wink.

Finn chuckled. "Mostly when I'm drunk."

As it turned out, the kitchen didn't lead anywhere; at least Finn had gotten a breadstick out of the deal. He followed Zevran back out into the entry room, spotting a doorway at the end of the room that lead out into what was probably the palace's inner grounds.

There were a couple more elven corpses near this doorway, charred and bloodied; one had been propped up against the side of a rickety wooden wheelbarrow, her head slumped and her chin on her chest.

"Pretty grounds," Finn said to distract himself from the plethora of dead bodies as he and Zevran walked out of the quarters and under an archway of dark wooded stems and trailing vines. "Well-kept flowers…fresh lawns…"

"The symphonious sound of someone being murdered in the background…" Zevran said.

"…shite."

Both of them took off at a run.

The floral archway led out to a set of marble steps, which led down to a stone fountain adorned with what looked like brass lions at each corner. Finn slowed to a jog on the steps, looking around and spotting no murderers or would-be corpses; the only evidence of a killing was a man's corpse stretched on its stomach on the tiles just in front of the fountain.

"Ah," Zevran said, tsking his tongue, "look at the clothes. Standard Orlesian fare. It seems more than just servants are _disappearing_ here."

"And look," Finn said, "knife in his back. Cut down running?"

"Possibly," Zevran said, stepping closer to it. "Or the knife was left here after—Ha ha! Oh, now _this_ is quite the twist. See the crest on the knife, _amico?_ It belongs to the Chalons family."

"Duke Gaspard," Finn supplied, his brows furrowing in confusion. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Something for us to deduce ourselves, yes?" Zevran said.

A shrill scream interrupted whatever Finn had been about to say; he turned his head to see an elven woman in a servant's tunic fleeing from someone in what looked a…harlequin's costume?

He flared his hands and reached for his mana pool, but the elf's time had run out. The harlequin lunged forward in a flurry of knives, cutting into her back and spattering blood in the air. The elf fell forward, arms splayed in front of her, and didn't get back up.

Finn hissed under his breath, lifting his hand and firing an ice spike, but the harlequin rolled to the side and dodged, throwing down a smoke bomb; the spike embedded itself in a trimmed shrub.

" _Merda,"_ Zevran cursed as the bomb exploded and dark grey smoke rapidly filled the air; the assassin had drawn his daggers, but now he lifted one arm to cover his nose, trying to avoid getting smoke in his lungs. Finn coughed, his eyes watering and his throat tightening, and ran further into the smoke to try and catch the harlequin.

Even his sharp elven eyes couldn't see through this. It would have to clear on its own.

" _Finn,_ " Zevran wheezed from somewhere in the smoke, "did you see the others with the harlequin?"

"No," Finn choked out, coughing hard, spinning wildly in several directions. "Who—"

" _Mages!"_

As if in answer, a fireball roared through the smoke, lighting it up with a brilliant orange flare, and Finn hit the ground hard to avoid it.

"You still there, Zev?!" he yelled, springing to his feet. An affirmative grunt was his answer.

Chances were the mages were hanging out on the edge of the smoke, blasting him and Zevran with magic while they were supposedly too blind to move. Finn thrust his hands forward and summoned a stonefist, hurtling it out of the smoke cloud; someone screamed, accompanied by a heavy crash.

The breeze in the palace's inner grounds wasn't much, but it was enough to start dispersing the smoke—at an agonizingly slow pace, of course. Visibility remained absolute shite, much to Finn's chagrin. Especially when another fireball blew through the smoke cloud and nearly blinded him with its brightness.

He sprayed a quick succession of ice spikes forward, barely aware of a silvery glint to his right as Zevran met someone with his knives.

Time to put his training to good use. He didn't have his usual rosewood staff to help channel his magic, but he'd have to make do.

He reached for the invisible Veil around him, snapped and warped it, pulled it into a shimmering aqua barrier around his body. Just in time, too—another fireball seared around him, its feathery edges licking at the film of his barrier. Finn huffed and darted forward, finding the edge of the smoke cloud just in time to see a mage in armored robes begin to ready another spell.

"You can cast that next fireball right up your own arse," Finn snapped as he brought his hands low, found the heavy weight of magic settling in his palms, and brought it roughly up; ice exploded from the ground under the mage, flinging the man's body up and impaling him on a jagged ice spear.

Ick. Finn didn't particularly like killing so _brutally_ , but, well…that guy started it.

"Behind you!" Zevran yelled.

Finn whirled around, coming face to face with a rogue. A very angry rogue. Whose knife was, in fact, going straight for his face.

Whether or not Finn's barrier would hold off the blow in time for him to dodge back and ready a spell, it apparently didn't matter. A greataxe flashed steel grey above the rogue, cutting into him with a brutal spray of red. The rogue crumpled to the ground at Finn's feet before the latter even had time to _pick_ a spell.

And that gave Finn a perfect view of the man who'd swung the axe.

Elven, not _terribly_ taller than Finn, lean and muscular. His braid of deep brandy-colored hair had loosened somewhat in the altercation, and he fixed green eyes the color of apple peels on Finn as he smiled and hefted the axe onto his back.

"Well _you're_ not Zevran," Finn said, dumbly.

"I look into the mirror and cry over that fact once a day," the elven warrior said in an obviously Fereldan accent, grinning further. "That should be all of them. Only one I saw escape was the harlequin."

"Well, well, well," Zevran drawled, stepping out of the dissipating smoke and grinning deviously. "I'm not surprised easily, but it appears you've managed, _fratello_."

Finn lifted a brow. "You know each other?"

"Aye," the green-eyed elf said, bowing his head once. "Warden Radavin Tabris, at your service."

" _Warden?"_ Finn repeated. He'd always been embarrassingly fascinated with Wardens, and he remembered all of their faces. Or so he thought. "I didn't see you at—"

"The Battle of Denerim? Nah." Radavin casually waved lingering bits of smoke out of his face. "I mean, I _was_ at the battle, but with the rest of the alienage. I wasn't a Warden at the time. Regardless of that—you're Finn Lavellan, aren't you? I've heard about you."

Finn chuckled. "That's me—Dalish mage, rabid Warden-enthusiast, and obligatory lunatic."

"Rada," Zevran said, "I take it Corvis sent you out here."

Radavin nodded. "Aye, Commander Nalida and I parted ways with Lady Cousland and the rest of the Wardens to come here. He has me posing as a servant to have 'eyes in the palace', so to speak. I almost blew my cover in front of the Inquisitor. I'm going to be embarrassed for weeks. And now I just blew it in front of the Inquisitor's brother. But I saw you two fighting out here and I thought I'd join in."

The Warden-Commander was here? At the Winter Palace? This party was getting better and better.

"I'll tell you, this shite might easily be more fun than that party," Finn said. He twisted, looking around at the armored mage still impaled on the now melting spikes of ice. "Fuck a bucket. Guys, these _are_ Venatori _._ I knew I recognized the armor."

"Now _that_ doesn't surprise me." Zevran strode forward to examine Finn's barbaric work of art. "Corypheus's lackeys indeed. Perhaps this is meant to distract us from the true assassin." He scratched his chin. "Or they are running into trouble with the _elves,_ specifically."

"Ambassador Briala's spies," Radavin supplied helpfully. "She's got fucktons of them among the servants. Hard to tell which is which."

"Are there any elves left who are _actual_ servants?" Finn asked.

Zevran snickered. "Good question."

"Maybe one or two," Radavin said with a grin. "Lot of stuff going on at this party, yeah? Mind if I join you both for a moment? I'm game to clear out some more Venatori."

"And we let that harlequin get away," Finn said, glancing around the grounds. "Let's catch the bastard."

***

What felt like ten years of slogging through a thousand Venatori corpses to track down the escaped harlequin was probably only a half hour and a scattered few fights; still, Finn couldn't help but wipe sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Not having a staff present made it a bit more difficult to properly channel magical attacks without them exploding haphazardly all around you, and he missed his staff something fierce. His back felt bare without it.

"So," Zevran said, filling the silence with his smooth Antivan accent as the three of them searched through some of the palace's many currently unused rooms. "Rada. Are you going to let Ellie know you're here when the party is over?"

"I plan on seeing her," Radavin said with a happy lift to his voice. "I've missed her something awful."

"I hear she has found comfort in the burly arms of a Qunari dreadnaught's crew since you've been away."

"Quit pulling my leg."

"Little minx, that one."

"No one buys it, Zev. No one buys it."

"Are you...Ah! Found more Venatori!" Finn exclaimed, stepping through a doorway.

Zevran and Radavin dashed into the room behind him, then skidded to a stop.

"That was a lot of enthusiasm for finding _corpses,_ Finn," Zevran said. "You would think we had stumbled upon a bunch of captive prostitutes eager to thank us for gallantly freeing them."

"Screw the prostitutes," Finn said. "All I want right now is steak and an entire vat of ale."

"Or," Zevran said with a devious snicker, " _screw_ the prostitutes."

Finn let out a mock long-suffering sigh and strode forward to where the Venatori lay, quite dead, five of them scattered arbitrarily around the room. He could already tell, even without bending to examine them, that they were littered with knife wounds; all but one had a throwing knife sticking out of them. Maybe the elven spies had fought back and won? He didn't rightly know.

No harlequin, though. He blew upwards and fluffed a tendril of chocolate hair away from his eyes.

"And so the hunt continues," Zevran said somewhere behind Finn.

The room was eerily barren, its many windows open to allow in a cooling breeze from the terrace outside, sheets thrown over scattered furniture and making them looking like boxy, lumpy ghosts out of a child's imagination. Finn stilled, his ears flicking downwards in discomfort.

"Something doesn't feel quite right," Radavin said, his axe creaking in the bindings on his back as he shifted.

"Are you scared of a few corpses, my friend?" Zevran teased.

"Only if they don't stay down," said Radavin.

"Well, if—" Zevran cut himself off. "Hmm, I hear breathing."

Finn's instincts told him in no uncertain terms that a barrier would probably be a good idea; he silently flexed his fingers, seeping a filmy blue barrier over his skin. Silver flashed in the corner of his eye and he jerked sideways, a throwing knife whistling out of a doorway and ricocheting off his barrier with a flickering shower of watery blue sparks.

"Found ya!" Radavin exclaimed, pulling his axe free of its bindings.

The harlequin dove out into the room and somersaulted, ending up on his feet with his legs braced wide as he analyzed the three elves in front of him. Finn dipped into his mana pool, lightning forming in his palms, when the harlequin soundlessly bolted sideways for the open window.

Finn growled under his breath, switched spells, and shot an ice wall up over the window, sealing the opening; the harlequin smashed into the ice with a sick thud and staggered backwards, dazed.

Then one of Zevran's throwing knives sunk into his thigh, toppling him to the ground.

"Ah, that was satisfying," the Antivan said.

"Should we have questioned him?" Finn asked. "Maybe he knows—"

"Finn, my dear, look at his armor," Zevran said. "I doubt he has anything useful to say if he prances about in such hideous gear."

That sounded exactly like something Dorian would say.

Finn blinked. "Did you really kill him because you don't like his armor?"

"I mean…he _did_ try to kill us first," Radavin offered. "Not to mention he might've played dead until we got up close and sunk a knife in one of us. Rogues are tricky that way."

"And I may have some of the answers you seek," said a woman with a smooth Orlesian accent from behind them; Finn spun around and spotted an elven woman in a well-fitted green dress that came just to her mid-shins, a mask over her eyes and a thick hairnet binding her hair into a bun. She stepped nimbly closer, a hint of a smirk tweaking her lips. "For a price, of course."


	54. Meeting, Greeting, and Cheating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to singular updates this time, but I'm trying to stay on a more consistent schedule! Enjoy :)

Nanyehi sipped at a glass of sparkling moscato d'oro _,_ enjoying the sweet peachy taste and the way the bubbles fizzed in her mouth.

Night had fallen by now, she was fairly certain—when she glanced over at a window, she saw dark shadows. Now the ballroom and grand foyer had been lit with many candles and wall sconces, allowing for golden lights to flicker and glitter off polished floors and jewels around ladies' necks. The party had been going for hours now, with no real events to speak of…unless one counted idle chatter as an event.

"These people could use a few pranks, y'know," Sera said, leaning with too-casual ease against the railing nearest them. "Few pies here. Few bees there. Really get the party started."

The fellow elven rogue had refused to dress up overmuch for the masquerade, and after maybe two minutes of attempting to change her mind, Nani had finally relented. The compromise was breeches with no rips, boots with no holes in them, and a mid-thigh-length tunic with at least some sort of interesting pattern on it; it would have to do. Sera hated nobility with the burning passion of a thousand fiery suns, so cleaning up for the party had already been acquiescence on her part.

"Somehow, I don't think that would end well." Nani took another sip, holding the wine on her tongue for a moment before swallowing.

"That's the _point,_ gloomy-guts." Sera flipped her bangs away from her eyes and surveyed the crowds. "Everyone's got poles straight up their arses. No one wants to let down their guard because it's _embaaaaarrassing._ And then the other snooty arseholes would gang up on them."

"You have a point there," Nani conceded.

"See? Knew you got a brain in your elfy elf head." The blonde looked pleased with herself. "You look pretty, by the way. Doesn't suit you, but still pretty."

"What do you mean, doesn't suit me?"

"You're not one for this shite either, yeah?" Sera nodded towards the bulk of the party. "You like wind in your hair, leaves, all that outdoorsy pish-posh. So, it's like I said—they dressed you up awfully pretty for the ball. But you don't look yourself."

Nani nodded. "I don't _feel_ myself."

But she had the Inquisition at her back. They wouldn't let her down.

"Me either," Sera said. "Whole thing makes me itchy."

Nani allowed a bit of a chuckle. "Maybe you shouldn't have made the announcer introduce you as Lady _My Balls-Itch."_

"Well, if I had bollocks, they'd be itching something fierce. Too much snootiness for one palace in here." Sera turned, peering off somewhere. "Little miss Nightingale wants to talk to you, I think. She just sent us one of them looks."

"I'll go see what she wants," Nani said, draining the last of the moscato and setting the empty glass on a low cabinet before she left Sera and approached Leliana.

The spymaster didn't look up as Nani approached, only smoothed her short strawberry hair with a hand, but Nani knew she'd sensed her coming. Leliana flickered blue-grey eyes over at her, then made a small gesture with her head and walked off.

Casually, Nani followed her to a cushioned white settee in the foyer, making sure to mimic Leliana and smooth her dress before she sat.

"So many crimes of fashion here," Leliana said, folding her ivory hands daintily in her lap. "Absolutely embarrassing."

"Hopefully you're not speaking of any of our own," Nani said.

Leliana shook her head. "I won't make any comments on our motley assortment. Regardless, that's not why I wished to talk to you. I've been in contact with your brother."

"He's alright?"

The spymaster idly fanned her mouth with a hand as she watched a nobleman pass by the settee.

"Many things are happening tonight, Inquisitor," she said. "Finirial reports that there are Venatori agents roaming throughout the palace's inner grounds. More than that, they are indiscriminately slaughtering elven servants in hopes that they weed out the majority of Ambassador Briala's spies."

Nani swallowed hard. But of course she'd sent her brother straight into a hazardous situation without knowing the full extent of it.

"Ambassador Briala has brought to our attention that Grand Duke Gaspard is smuggling chevaliers into the palace," Leliana continued. "Whether or not he plans a coup, I cannot yet say. _He_ points the finger back at Ambassador Briala, but I believe the best place to strike at Empress Celene would be from her side, not from the shadows. Your brother says she seemed quite interested in an alliance between the Inquisition and her spy network. A risky maneuver, but I'm not entirely opposed to the idea. She wants us to nudge the peace talks in favor of her elves."

"Any more information on who might be Corypheus's assassin?" Nani asked in a hushed voice.

"No," Leliana said, "but I _do_ have something of note." She straightened, making her back more rigid. "Empress Celene is fascinated by mysticism. Foreseeing the future, speaking with the dead, that sort of rubbish. She has an 'occult advisor.' An apostate who charmed the empress and key members of the court as if by magic."

Nani tapped her fingers together. "Undercover Venatori, maybe? Should we be hunting this apostate?"

"That would be ill-advised," Leliana said firmly. "I've had dealings with her in the past. She is no Venatori, but she is utterly ruthless and capable of anything nonetheless."

"Tell me what you know about her."

Leliana's expression soured. "Her name is Morrigan. She is a witch of the Korcari Wilds, and more than that, she is the mother of the Warden-Commander's son."

_Oh._ "Is that—"

"Why Corvis is present at the masquerade? Of that I have no doubt." The spymaster watched people mosy about the foyer. "Inquisitor, as much as I don't trust Morrigan, do not threaten her in _any_ manner. Not only is she exceedingly dangerous, but if she came to harm, I have no doubt Corvis would turn himself and his Wardens on whoever threatened her life. He is a powerful mage and entirely devoted to her—not a safe combination."

"I understand," Nani said. _At least now I know why the Warden-Commander is here at the masquerade. Did Shesi or Ellie know about this? I'll ask later._

"Be vigilant," Leliana said, rising from her seat and deftly smoothing the folds of her gown. "No doubt our enemies know we are here and do not plan to let us sabotage their efforts."

And that meant a possible attack. A strike from the shadows, the silver of a knife flashing between the bright colors of gowns and masks and jewels. Nani had been hunting all her life, could spot the slightest movement out of the corner of her eye; she had to trust her own instincts.

She stood as well, going over what she knew in her head. _Gaspard wants the throne. He's sneaking chevaliers into the palace. He may threaten the peace talks. Briala—might not be a threat? She's got spies all over the palace, but she wants to ally with us. Possibly. Venatori infiltrating the palace grounds. Someone close to Empress Celene is probably the assassin tasked with killing her._

Briala, as Leliana had explained it earlier, had once been close to Celene but was no longer. Gaspard could afford a closer position, as her cousin and a prominent member of the upcoming peace talks.

Focus on Gaspard, then? No, no, it all seemed too _easy._ Gaspard's potential motives for wanting Celene dead were more obvious than a tropical parrot in a snow field. Any assassin worth their weight would no doubt take advantage of that fact and try to frame him.

_We need more evidence on absolutely everyone,_ she thought, meandering around with seemingly no purpose to her walk. Her path took her through a nearly empty room with a few statuettes on pedastals scattered about; no doubt they all had intricate inscriptions, but she wasn't terribly interested in Orlesian art or history.

Ah—and then there were the Wardens, and Morrigan. More pieces to the puzzle. Nani moseyed through the palace, through a set of double doors with polished glass panes and crisp white trim, and found herself in a small outdoor patio.

The sky was black above, but the patio was well-lit by multiple sconces scattered around the grounds. Nani spied green, grass lawns under people's feet, and breathed a small sigh of relief. She'd never been able to relax anywhere until she could see something green. On a particularly stressful day in the war room not that long ago, she'd caught herself staring intently at Warden Mahariel's dark jade eyes, unconsciously seeking out a touch of green; that had been interesting to explain.

A fountain babbled on the opposite site of the patio, coins clinking and splashing as people tossed them into the waters. She spotted Dorian over by the fountain, with his back to her, and she headed over to chat with him.

Dorian didn't usually wear black and gold—typical Tevinter colors, he'd said—but the combination flattered him quite nicely, the gold trim striking against the bronze of his skin. He must've taken her assignment to chat up the Warden-Commander quite seriously; the two were still talking.

"I dread to ask what sorts of things you lot drank in Kinloch Hold," Dorian was saying.

"Then I dread to answer," Corvis said.

"Oh, but now I'm quite curious."

"I warned you. Kinloch Hold's noteworthy delicacies were cold water, lukewarm water, and hot water."

"Truly? You wound me with your words."

"Ah, it is so. The senior enchanters were afforded better luxuries."

Nani approached them, clearing her throat lightly. "Mind if I interrupt? You two seem to be enjoying yourselves."

Dorian grinned widely. "Corvis here might be the only southerner who isn't an utter boor. I could talk about wines all night."

Corvis lifted an eyebrow and chuckled. "Let's not start calling me a _southerner,_ my friend."

"Ah, yes, I suppose I've just insulted you in the worst possible way."

"There _are_ worse manners, but I'd be an imbecile to give you them."

"Naturally."

"Dorian," Nani said, "I've gotten in touch with Finn. He's—"

"Oh?" Dorian said, looking down at her. "How is that chronic cough of his progressing? I do hope those nurses are making him rest. He is so _dreadfully_ terrible at staying out of trouble, even when ill."

Damn it, she'd almost blown her cover. Thank the gods for Dorian's quick wit.

"And I suppose this illness mutated your brother's hair color and turned him into an Orlesian servant?" Corvis said, casually taking a sip of red wine from a sparkling glass.

Damn it again.

"How in hell do you know that?" Nani asked in a low voice. Dorian said nothing, but he looked almost impressed. Not helping.

"Might I remind you that two of my Wardens—and a dear assassin friend of mine—are within the Inquisition's higher ranks?" Corvis said.

"Alright," Nani said. "Then let's cut the crap. I know about Morrigan."

"And I know about your peanut allergy, but really, these things get us nowhere."

"How—" Nani started, then shook her head to clear it. She had to try harder, try to force his mask down. "I know she's a witch of the wilds. People don't trust witches. Which means that even with Celene's mysticism fascination, she probably won't be safe in Orlais for much longer. All I'd have to do to clear her name and get any hunters off her tail is to put her under Inquisition protection."

Corvis nodded once. "And you're hoping I would then promise you a favor out of sheer gratitude."

Dorian appeared to enjoy watching them talk back and forth, Nani noted, although he didn't offer any opinions of his own.

"I could _really_ use an alliance with you," Nani said. "So I'm bargaining. Whatever might drive you to offer me something in return—gratitude, fairness, respect, I really don't care—would mean both of us benefit from this."

"Morrigan goes where she wishes and does what she pleases, Inquisitor. I hardly think she would be willingly chained to your Inquisition if it wasn't her idea."

Nani shook her head. "It's not a chain. It's an offer, to you _and_ her. Help me keep Celene alive tonight, and I promise I'll do what I can to give Morrigan a safe place from anyone who's hunting her."

"Mm, you drive a good bargain." Corvis smiled halfway, then turned to leave. "If I were you, I'd keep a sharp eye on the Grand Duchess."

Nani watched him stride off, chewing on her tongue in contemplation.

"Was that a—" she started.

"That was an 'I'll strongly consider it' if I ever saw one," Dorian offered, briefly scratching his chin. "He's awfully crafty, even for an Antivan. Knows his wines, though. I like him."

"I don't like being habitually outsmarted," she admitted, resisting the urge to scrub her arms.

Dorian quirked a grin. "Never leave Ferelden, then. Tevinters and Antivans outsmart their brethren for a bit of afternoon leisure. It's a national pastime. If they _can't_ manage such a thing, they generally end up dead."

"How do you even _survive,_ then?"

"You adapt, and you make yourself smarter in return," Dorian said. "Then cackle with malicious zest at your opponent's shock. At any rate—you said you've been in touch with Finn? Is he alright?"

She swallowed. "I sent him straight into harm's way, yet again. There's Venatori crawling all over the palace's inner grounds, and they're going after elven servants to try and weed out Briala's spies. I think there's been a lot of deaths already."

Dorian scowled something fierce.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "He's perfectly fine, last I checked, but—it's a difficult situation, I know. I wish I could be in there too. At least he's got Zevran."

"Thank the Maker for small things," Dorian said dryly, his words about as enthusiastic as a lump of burnt toast.

"I'm just as worried as you are."

"I've told you on numerous occasions, Nanyehi, I would never risk worry-lines on my face. Could you imagine such a thing marring my skin? Dreadful. Worry is such a plebian thing to do."

"Dorian," she chided. "At least don't lie to _Finn,_ alright? He puts on a cheery face, but…he needs to know you care, too."

"He does," Dorian said, almost snappishly.

Nani nodded. "Let me know if you see anything suspicious, alright? If anything catches your attention? Corypheus's people could be anywhere."

"Don't you worry about that." He chuckled. "There isn't enough wine in this entire palace to make me oblivious."

"I'll hold you to it."

***

Suffice to say, Nani had never danced a slow waltz with a highborn Orlesian woman at a grand masquerade with a whole slew of partygoers watching before.

Naturally, she found the whole experience highly uncomfortable. She couldn't help likening the uneasy spine tingles to having a bucket of beetles dumped down the back of her shirt.

All those eyes of all those watching people bored into her, hot as firebrands.

"Enjoying the party, Inquisitor?" Lady Florianne said, her eyes boring into Nani's through the slits of her mask. Her hands, holding Nani's stiffly, were as cold as winter air.

_I'd keep a sharp eye on the Grand Duchess,_ Corvis had said. Whatever neutrality Nani'd had before…she couldn't help but find suspicion in every shift of Florianne's brown eyes, every tiny tweak of the woman's mouth.

"Immensely," Nani said, staying vague.

_Spies will not hear us on the dance floor,_ Lady Florianne had said, upon asking Nani to dance a moment ago. But could anything be so certain at the Winter Palace?

"You are from the Free Marches, are you not?" the Grand Duchess asked, her feet sliding perfectly about the dance floor as she turned and pulled Nani fluidly with her. "Dalish? How much do you know about our little war?"

"What do you think I ought to know?" Nani countered.

"My brother and my dear cousin have been at each other's throats for too long." Lady Florianne's hip just bumped Nani's as they made a turn. "It took great effort to arrange tonight's negotiations. Yet one party would use this occasion for blackest treason. The security of the empire is at stake—neither one of us wishes to see it fall."

_She's pinning blame on Gaspard,_ Nani realized. _Why? Has he done something drastic enough for her to give up her own brother? Or…?_

"And we share the same goals?" Nani asked.

Florianne's mouth curled in a slight smile. "I hope we are of one mind on this. You are a curiosity to many, Inquisitor Lavellan. And a matter of concern to some."

"Which am I to you, then?"

"A little of both, actually." The violinists picked up their tempo just a touch, barely noticeably, but Florianne adjusted to the pace and Nani followed suit. "This evening is of great importance. I wonder what role you will play in it."

"As do I," Nani said.

"Do you even yet know who is friend and who is foe? Who in the court can be trusted?"

Nani raised an eyebrow. "Isn't everyone in the Winter Palace alone, Your Grace? The Game can't have multiple winners."

The room was starting to blur from all their dancing and spinning—or was it the nerves? She couldn't tell.

"You have little time, Inquisitor," Lady Florianne urged. "The attack may come tonight. You must stop it. In the Royal Wing garden, you will find the captain of my brother's mercenaries. He knows all of Gaspard's secrets—I'm certain you can persuade him to be forthcoming."

"He has many, I'm sure," Nani said. "He _is_ Orlesian."

The Grand Duchess smiled charmingly.

"Might I have the next dance?" Cullen asked from behind Nanyehi, startling her.

She dropped her arms and parted from the Grand Duchess, turning to face Cullen and smiling despite herself. He wore the same military dress that much of the other Inquisition soldiers were wearing, but he bore it well, standing tall with pride in the set of his shoulders.

"I have _so_ enjoyed conversing with you, my dear Inquisitor," Florianne said; Nani turned her head to watch the Orlesian curtsy, then swivel and walk off.

Freed, Nani offered her hands to Cullen, who grasped them with gentle firmness and pulled her close to dance.

"It's the most curious thing," Cullen said, lightly and conversationally, as he led her in the motions of the slow waltz. "I could have sworn I saw a dark-haired elven servant walking about who looked like—"

Nani chuckled. "That would be Finn."

"Maker." He briefly rubbed the back of his neck. "And I've walked right past him, I'm realizing."

"That's the idea."

He nodded once, slipping into silence for a moment.

"You are absolutely breathtaking, by the way," Cullen said after a bit, sincerely, his brown eyes warm as he looked unwaveringly down at her. "Not that you aren't beautiful every other day, but—Maker's breath, Nanyehi."

She eased into the dancing, her natural Dalish fluidity erasing any disadvantage a lack of experience might have given her. Her feet found the slow, serene rhythm of the violins, her muscles loosening, hips swaying with the motions.

"Thank you," she said, her cheeks heating just a bit. "I…feel weird here, I'll admit. This is nothing most Dalish elves would ever consider doing. Not the 'dancing with you' part—the Orlesian masquerade part. It's—"

Creators above, she was actually babbling. Wasn't Finn supposed to be the chronic babbler? Traits really _did_ run in families, apparently.

"I know," Cullen said. "Trust me, you aren't the only one who'd rather be anywhere but this place."

Smiling softly, Nani leaned into him, feeling his warrior's arms steady her with each sway of the dance. He smelled like cologne, cedar trees and fresh musk; Leliana must have gotten her hands on him. Not a surprise, there. Leliana had gotten her clever bard's hands on just about everyone in the entire Inquisition.

Including Finn, especially him—he could've been anywhere right now. Fighting Venatori, taking a blow for some elven servant he'd never met before in his life…doing her dirty work while she danced.

_Gods, I miss him._ It had only been a matter of hours, sure. But she couldn't quell the separation anxiety that threatened her every time he was gone.

_I'm hopeless._

"I've been thinking, you know," Cullen said softly.

Nani looked up at him. "About?"

"A brief discussion we had, a little while ago." He exhaled. "It's not about the lyrium—I'm alright at the moment, and I wouldn't dredge up that mess here. I'm talking about…you had said you never wanted to leave the wilderness and settle down."

Ah, that. Nani tensed.

"I'm sorry, I…" She lifted a hand to fuss with her glossy cabernet hair, but stopped herself just short. "It's just who I _am,_ I'm…I'm Dalish, Cullen. More than that, I _love being_ Dalish. I feel empty without a bow in my hands. I love the woods, I love the open air, I love making a campfire out of sticks and sitting in the dark and listening to the owls while a _hahren_ spins a story…"

"I know that, Nanyehi."

"Is this…" She swallowed. "…really the right place to have this talk?"

"This isn't _a talk._ Hear me out." His voice was as gently firm as his hands were. "I realize we desire different things from our lives. We don't unwind the same ways. You'd rather be up in a tree's branches when night falls, and I want to be in a chair by the hearth with…regardless, it doesn't matter." One of his hands slid to the small of her back, pressing her ever closer against his warmth. "No matter where you are or where I am, you will _always_ be special to me. Nothing could possibly change that. Even if I'm in that chair and you're hunting with a bow in your hands."

Her tension melted, dripping away, and she thumped her head against his chest to hide her smile.

Words didn't come easily to her, so she struggled to find them, chewing on her tongue. "You don't know what that means to me."

"Oh, I'm fairly certain I do." His laugh vibrated in his chest, rumbling against her cheek. "You don't have to say anything. Just relax. Enjoy the night for a moment. You deserve it."

"As do you," she said quietly.

Her voice must've been so soft, muffled…but from the tightening of his arms, she knew he'd heard.


	55. Deception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally I'd written this whole sequence as one chapter, but later split it into halves; here's the first much longer half. Which I suppose doesn't count as a half if it's longer. Anyway.
> 
> Also, screw the stone halla statuettes. Ain't nobody got time for that.

Finn popped a red grape into his mouth, taking a seat on one of the long kitchen tables. His legs may have been proportionally long for his height, but they were too short to reach the floor from where he sat; the tips of his toes just barely brushed the marble floor beneath him.

There hadn't been noteworthy Venatori activity in this corner of the palace for some time now. Neither Finn, Zevran, nor Radavin had been particularly eager to rejoin the party—and subject themselves to more mistreatment by snooty nobles—so they'd elected to wait a moment in the empty servants' quarters instead. Might as well take advantage of all the free food in the kitchens. No one was serving it anyway—most of the servants were Briala's spies, and most of _those_ were dead.

How grim.

"They are hiding the best drinks here, utterly unused," Zevran said just before he took a swig from a bottle of brandy. "Such bad form."

" _Great_ time to drink, Zev," Radavin said, shaking his head with an affectionate smile.

"There's never a bad time to drink," Finn said. "Zevran, pass that shit over."

Zevran handed him the bottle, and Finn tipped it back, swallowing a mouthful of rich caramel-colored brandy.

"You swallow like a professional," Zevran teased.

Finn sputtered, nearly choked on his next mouthful of brandy, and lowered the bottle.

Radavin chuckled. "You get a lot of practice?"

"Fuck's sake." Finn tried to pull an angry face, failed, and laughed instead. His throat tingled from the brandy's pleasant burn. "I'm pretty sure I don't remember signing up for this innuendo session."

"I've run out of ways to tease Zev," Radavin said, raking rich brown hair away from his forehead. "Mostly because none of them affect him."

The Antivan looked proud of himself. "It's true."

Finn eyed the contents of the bottle, swirled the liquid around and watched it catch the light, then took another long swig. Maybe a bit of alcohol would keep him in an amenable mood. He'd gotten too close to picking a fight with the prick who'd slapped him in the face, and he didn't want to risk causing another scene. One that could end less peacefully.

"Are you going to share, _amico?"_ Zevran drawled. "Or are you going to swallow down that entire thing?"

"If you're going to keep teasing me, you don't get any." Finn smirked deviously and took another drink, lifting the bottle extra high on the upswing for dramatic effect. "I'm going to swallow the _whole fucking thing._ Like a champ."

"Don't drink it all before I get any," Radavin protested, snatching the bottle from Finn and bringing it to his mouth.

Zevran snickered.

"Guys." Finn planted his hand on the table next to him. "Maybe we should think about heading back into the ballroom? Seeing if Nani wants us anywhere else?"

"I _suppose,"_ Zevran said with a resigned, over-dramatized sigh.

Finn stood and joined him in the doorway. "May as well get our arses in gear."

"Seriously—here we are stealing booze and making dirty jokes instead of doing anything useful," Radavin pointed out. "Maker. It sounds terribly incriminating once you put it into words. Let's get back to the ballroom before we get any more unproductive, yeah?"

"That's probably for the best," Finn said, leading the way out of the kitchen.

***

"You've been the talk of the Court since your dance with the Grand Duchess, Inquisitor," Josephine said, looking pleased. "We should really ask you to dance more often."

"Please don't," Nani said, keeping her voice light.

She and Cullen had joined Leliana and Josephine in the vestibule, not long after dancing on the ballroom floor. Dancing with Cullen had actually been more relaxing and pleasant than she'd expected; dancing with Florianne had made her a bit jittery.

"Were you _dancing_ with Grand Duchess Florianne?" Leliana asked, sounding almost incredulous.

Cullen cleared his throat.

"And you, Commander, though dancing with the Grand Duchess strikes me as much more noteworthy," Leliana said.

"I was," Nani said quietly. "She's trying to fix the blame on Grand Duke Gaspard. Why, I don't know yet."

"And it appears the peace talks are crumbling as we speak," Josephine said. "I know the attack on Celene's life will most likely happen tonight, but…warning her is pointless. She needs these talks to succeed, and to flee would admit defeat."

Leliana nodded. "Then perhaps we should let her die."

Cullen swiveled his head to face Leliana so fast that Nani was surprised his neck didn't snap. Josephine's mouth opened slightly, aghast. Nani blinked a couple of times.

"…come again?" she said. "The entire _reason_ we're here is—"

"Listen to me carefully, Inquisitor," Leliana said firmly. "What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen. To foil his plan, the empire must remain strong. This evening, _someone_ must emerge victorious."

"She's…right," Cullen amended. "It doesn't need to be Celene."

Josephine sputtered. "Do you _realize_ what you're suggesting, Leliana?"

Leliana's gaze was pure bluish steel. "Sometimes the best path is not the easiest one."

"Celene's blood would stain our hands," Nani said, trying to choose her words carefully. "If we truly sat by and let her be assassinated even though we knew a killer was out for her tonight…I need to think long and hard about this."

"If you save her life," Leliana said, "then you must also save her empire."

Josephine nodded. "That means giving her a victory over both Gaspard and Briala."

"The Grand Duchess told me Gaspard's mercenary captain is in the royal wing," Nani said. "Someone get Finn and Zevran access inside. I'm not entirely convinced Gaspard is Corypheus's ally, but at this point, I want details on just about everyone at this party."

"We will get them inside the wing," Leliana promised. "Madame Vivienne has been feeding us enough dirt on the partygoers to give us significant leverage with the court. With any luck…we'll put these scandals to good use."

***

Nani found Ambassador Briala by herself on one of the balconies, lamplight barely flickering over her small elven form in the dark.

"Inquisitor Lavellan," Briala said before Nani had quite reached her, turning to face her. "Charming the Court while your assistants do your dirty work. I cannot say I had expected such cleverness from you."

Nani couldn't see much behind Briala's mask, but the elven ambassador was petite, fair of face, pretty light-brown eyes the color of walnut shells. Tendrils of curly dark cinnamon hair artfully escaped her elaborate hair-binding.

"That's the idea, isn't it?" Nani said. "I wanted to be underestimated."

"As all elves are," Briala said. "What brings you to me?"

Thinking quickly, Nani went over everything she'd learned over the evening in her head. The elven ambassador probably relied more on the Inquisition than she'd be willing to let on; after all, if the Inquisition saved Celene from her would-be murderer, the empress would be almost entirely in their debt. But Briala would have contingency plans in the case of failure, Nani knew. And those could mean chaos.

"I want to know what you hope to gain from tonight's negotiations," Nani said.

Briala chuckled dryly. "A voice. Simple enough, isn't it? My people have none."

"Our people?" Nani corrected.

"When have the Dalish cared for the fate of city elves, Inquisitor?" Briala asked.

"I do."

"Then your experiences have changed you, it seems." A spark of interest flashed through Briala's eyes—no doubt she found Nani's viewpoint a useful one. "We—the elves—have lived for centuries amid the lowest ranks of society. No one hears us. No one sees us. If the elves of Halamshiral were elevated…if we had an elven noble at Court? We'd have recognition. A _voice."_

"And you want my assistance in reaching that," Nani clarified.

Briala's nod was so subtle it might've not even happened. "You've walked out of the Fade twice, have you not? Risen to heights no elf has ever reached before? Bent the world to your will? What possibly could you _not_ do, then?"

True, Nani risked dissent if she purposely swayed the Orlesian Court towards elven ideals. Yet she'd handled worse dissent already. Not long ago in the span of things, the Chantry had vocally claimed her as a false prophet, the dirty elven personification of dangerous lies. Would things have been different if Nani had been human? Nobility, even?

She and Finn had been spared from the majority of vile treatment elves usually got. Briala…probably had not.

"It seems like high time the elves had a voice," Nani agreed.

"A start," Briala said. "That's all it is. Something humans can't ignore, something elves can aspire to. But for now, we focus on the task at hand."

"Which is?" Nani said. "I've been told you have unpleasant history with Empress Celene. Would you support Gaspard, then?"

There was an unspoken _and let Celene die_ hanging in the air between them.

"Assuming I'm not the one blamed for what might befall Celene?" Briala idly clasped her hands in front of her. "It would be precarious. I've been working on Gaspard, but he's like a charging bull. It would be easier to rein him in if I had something that could hurt him. Celene…knows my qualifications. There was a time when I put my spies at her disposal. She is more progressive and persuadable than her cousin…but he is not impossible."

"So you think Celene might be easier to sway," Nani said.

"Potentially," Briala said. "No doubt _gratitude_ would also work in our favor."

_I can't let her die,_ Nani realized. No matter what Leliana claimed about letting Gaspard take the throne instead…she'd been listening around Halamshiral. The majority of the nobles wanted Celene in power. Letting Celene's assassination go through would mean monstrous amounts of risk. Not to mention…if Celene died and the Court pinned the blame on Briala, elves everywhere would suffer for it.

"I understand," Nani said. "It seems like I have a lot of work to do before the night ends."

"You do your work, Inquisitor," Briala said, bowing. "And I will do mine."

***

Finn rolled his shoulders about to loosen them when he reached the top of the stairs, seeing Zevran and Radavin join him in his peripheral vision.

He'd seen so much elegant Orlesian decoration and architecture by now that at this point, he couldn't be arsed to appreciate the inner sanctum of the Winter Palace's royal wing. This party had been dragging on for hours; he couldn't even imagine how Nani was feeling, making vapid conversation for an entire evening and well into the night.

"Let's recap," he suggested, swiveling to face the other two elven men. Two sets of keen eyes, dark syrupy gold and apple-green, watched his every move. "We're assigned to find dirt on Briala and Gaspard, but Nani's fairly certain that _neither_ are the assassin."

"Correct," Zevran said, nodding once.

"So we have no fucking clue who's trying to kill Celene," Finn said.

Radavin nodded. "Aye."

"Great. Good talk." Finn ventured further into the room, his gaze sweeping through it, trying to memorize every doorway and potential chokepoint. Just in case. "For all we know, _Zevran_ is Corypheus's assassin."

"Mm, you caught me," Zevran purred. "And now that you've caught me…what will you _do_ with me?"

"Tickle you," Finn said.

Zevran snickered. "I'll take that."

"Shesi told me Zev is pretty ticklish just under his ribs," Radavin supplied helpfully.

"Rada, my friend," Zevran said, "I might have to kill you for that knowledge."

"That's alright. I'll have died for a good cause."

Finn snorted, about to reply as he reached for one of the nearby doors to check inside. Then his snort died off into a decidedly un-manly yelp as the door slammed open and a figure crashed straight into him.

The force of the person's momentum knocked him straight off his feet and made him hit the tile floor and skid on his back a good few paces, his head cracking back against the tiles with a loud thump. Dazed, he gritted his teeth together and scrubbed his forehead, as if that would clear the whiteness from his vision.

The person—probably an elf, from the lack of heavy body-weight—scrambled off him with a scream.

_Well, fuck you too,_ he thought. _I'm not_ that _horrifying._

His vision sharpened some, and he noticed the elf throwing herself behind Zevran and knocking him off balance, just as he was trying to grab a dagger. Finn got unsteadily to one knee, not entirely certain what had gotten her in such a tizzy until he spotted a fully armed harlequin leaping out the door's opening.

"Duck!" Radavin yelled; Finn momentarily wondered why the Warden would be so enthusiastic about waterfowl, but then his disoriented brain reminded him of the other meaning of that word, and he threw himself to his stomach on the cold tile. Radavin's axe smashed sideways into the harlequin, cleaving into wildly-patterned armor and flesh and staggering the rogue back through the door.

The harlequin coughed, stumbling to her feet.

"Stay down already," Radavin said, slamming his boot into the rogue's sternum. Grunting, the harlequin stumbled backwards…then pitched back out the open window and fell.

What a way to go.

Finn got slowly to his feet, rubbing the back of his head as if it would scrub away the pounding ache.

"Oh, _thank you,"_ the petite mystery-elf said in a wavering voice with a thick Orlesian accent, emerging from behind Zevran, who returned the knife to his belt. "Thank you…Briala said no one would be in here—I shouldn't have trusted her."

"Briala _told_ you to be here?" Finn asked, swaying on his feet a little, white still splashing his vision. That had been quite the blow to the back of his head, apparently. Damned tiles. Next time someone flung themselves out of a door and tackled him to the ground, they'd better do it on carpet.

"Not personally," the elf said. Her brown hair had been tangled some in the altercation, and her eyes were wide with uncertainty, but she looked no worse for the wear. "The _ambassador_ can't be seen talking to servants."

"Naturally," Zevran said in a casual tone. "Such a thing would reveal you as spies, no?"

"I…" she said. "We get coded messages at certain locations. But the orders came from her. She's been watching the Grand Duke all night. No surprise she wanted someone to search his sister's room."

"Florianne's room?" Finn asked. Nani'd implied something suspicious about her, but nothing concrete. "Does she still use this room?"

"No," the spy said. "This wing of the palace was damaged. The family moved to the guest wing."

"So there might be nothing noteworthy in here?" Radavin asked.

"The note said nothing beyond searching the room," she said. "Ugh, I should have known it was a setup. Briala probably knew this wing was dangerous and sent me anyway. One more embarrassing secret erased."

Zevran leaned his weight on one hip. "Oh?"

The spy nodded. "I knew her—before. When she was Celene's _pet_." She spat the word. "Now she wants to play revolution. But I remember. She was sleeping with the empress who purged our alienage."

If the tiles hadn't given Finn a headache, Orlais's ridiculous machinations would have.

He found himself wishing he'd stolen that bottle of brandy and brought it with him. Would've come in handy by now. But stealing things usually didn't occur to Finn until _after_ the opportunity had passed. He didn't have a rogue's typical compulsion to loot things, after all.

"We may need testification," he said. All the more information for Nani, the better. She'd do what she chose with it.

The spy nodded, her mouth twisting nervously. "If the Inquisition will protect me, I'll tell you everything I know."

"Go back to the main party," Finn said. "Find either Commander Cullen or Sister Nightengale. You'll be protected there."

"I can escort you there, if you'd like," Radavin offered.

"No need," she said. "I will be careful. Thank you…Maker bless you."

Then she ducked away, vanishing down the stairs.

Well; that was something, at least. The more ammunition Nani had against literally everyone, the better. Finn would willingly take a headache time and time again to help his sister. He yawned—remembering it was probably pretty late at night by now—and turned to ask Radavin and Zevran their opinions, only to find Zevran looking over at something and snickering like he'd just been told the best joke in all of Thedas.

Perched on a marble statue of a lion and watching them with beady eyes was a bird.

_Bird_ hardly did it justice, though. Finn suspected such tropical looking creatures only lived far to the north in moist, emerald rainforests; it was a parrot or macaw of some sort, its feathers mostly a brilliant crimson with teal and gold barred streaks along the wings. The bird glanced at Finn and fluffed its wings nonchalantly.

"What's so funny?" Finn asked. "I'm sure the royal family has a…pet…parrot."

"Oh, he'll love that," Zevran said, still laughing.

"Of course he chooses the _most ostentatious bird in the entire world,"_ Radavin said, turning a pointed look at the parrot.

"Who?" Finn said, lifting an eyebrow. "Why are we glaring at a bird? Is this a normal thing to do in Orlais? Am I missing something?"

Zevran, smirking heavily, said, "quit gaining your entertainment from us and come out, _fratello."_

The parrot disappeared in a sudden thick haze of smoke-black magic; Finn blinked and watched the shadow inside morph quickly larger into the unmistakable form of a human.

"Ruin all my fun, why don't you," said Ferelden's Warden-Commander, waving his hand in front of his face and clearing away the magic haze.

Finn's jaw hung open; Radavin generously reached over and shut it.

_Gods be damned,_ Finn should have seen that coming. He'd fought at Corvis's side during the Battle of Denerim, _known_ the Commander could shapeshift. Then again…not many people looked at a random parrot and assumed it was a person, especially not in Orlais.

" _Amico mio, dove sei stato tutto il notte?"_ Zevran said; Finn knew a couple Antivan words, but couldn't hope to translate that. " _Mi sei mancato."_

" _Tutto il mondo,"_ Corvis replied, transferring seamlessly to what was probably his native language.

"Trade Tongue, you jerks," Radavin said, like he'd done this many times before.

Both of them eyed their fellow Warden casually, then switched back. "How wonderfully vague," Zevran said. "I hope you know I plan on giving you an embarrassingly long and intimate hug at some point tonight."

"You wouldn't dare," Corvis said.

"I would," Zevran said with a wicked grin.

"If you do what you did last time, I will end you." Corvis shifted his attention to Finn. " _Salve, amico._ Enjoying the more interesting aspects of the party?"

Finn couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the whole thing. "It's been full of surprises, you could say."

"On this end, _si._ Nothing of note has been happening at the masquerade, except for the pinot grigio being spectacularly horrendous." Corvis crossed his arms loosely over his chest. "Also, there's a rift in the gardens nearby. In case you wanted to know that."

"A rift?" Finn sputtered. "Oh, fantastic. What luck. That's just what we need. And it's not like I can tug Nani away from the party."

"It appears half-shut and unstable at the moment," Corvis said. "It should hold for a few minutes still."

"And we'll probably hear screaming when it opens," Finn said. "At least—Zev, Rada and I will."

"And we have not sufficiently completed our task, yes?" Zevran added. "I seem to remember being assigned to find the Grand Duke's mercenary captain."

"Aye," Radavin said. "You in, Commander? Seeing as you're already here and shit."

Corvis shrugged one shoulder. " _Certo."_

"I'm going to assume that's Antivan for _you guys are awesome company and I'm thrilled to be in your esteemed presence,"_ Finn joked, turning around and leading the way out of the room they'd been standing in. If he wasn't careful, they'd probably get lost in here—and, he'd face it, he really wasn't being all that careful. Or paying attention to his surroundings at all, really. Except… "Hey, what's that door over there? Looks fancy."

The door he looked at appeared to be of a rich brown material—wood? Maybe—and thrummed tangibly with decidedly weak magic. Sloping lines of shimmery blue-white traced elegant paths along the door's surface in a pattern Finn couldn't quite place. In the walls on each side of the door were recessed shelves, some of them filled with curios, others empty.

"Those empty ones," Radavin said, jogging to the door and examining them. "Do they look like they're a specific shape to you?"

"Some sort of silly deer on a pedestal," Zevran said.

"Halla," Finn identified. "That looks like a halla to me."

"Come to think of it, I've seen a few statuettes of the halla persuasion sitting about the palace," Zevran mentioned, rubbing his chin. "Perhaps those statuettes slide into the slots in the shelves? Trigger a reaction?"

Experimentally, Finn reached for the door handle and jiggled it. Locked. If this room had a magically sealed door, it probably contained something important inside—might as well try to get in.

Finn blew upwards, fluffing dark hair off his forehead as he stepped away from the door itself. "So the standard _turn knob, open door_ method appears to be defective."

"How many statue-slots need to be filled?" Radavin said, lifting his hand to count. "One, two—"

"Zero," Corvis said.

A fireball easily the size of a large dog smashed into the door, its explosive air current blasting the door off its hinges and sending it skidding into the room's interior, where it finally fell over with a tremendous thud.

Finn stared at the door-less void where the magical door had been. "Well, that's _one_ way to do it."

Zevran and Radavin looked at each other, exchanged a knowing look, and stepped into the room like nothing had even happened.

"If you're interested in the statuettes and want to scurry around the palace for two hours looking for hidden knick-knacks, be my guest," Corvis said, offering an almost lazy half-smile. "I, however, do not have the patience for such tedium."

He swept his hand forward in a universal _go on_ gesture, and Finn stepped into the room.

This room just about took the cake, decadence-wise. Well-oiled mahogany bookshelves filled to the brim with tomes lined the parallel walls of the lower level they'd just entered, flanking heavy marble statues of what looked to be Andrastian figures. The furniture scattered throughout, including two low entry tables at the sides of the lower level and a few glass-paned cabinets, looked to be of the same polished wood. Shallow marble stairs led up to the room's other half, the upper level, where Finn saw an elegant four-poster bed of either sculpted gold or brass.

"Hello?" said a voice, coming unmistakably from the bed. "What was that noise? Is someone there? Anybody?"

Confused and marginally concerned, Finn jogged up the steps.

And stopped.

Tied to the bed's four posters by iron cuffs encircling each limb, lying on his back on the unadorned mattress, was a man.

An extremely naked man, save for the chevalier's helm on his head. Did Orlesians have a thing about wearing hats for sex or something? How odd.

Poor sod didn't even have a pillow to conceal his privates, either.

"I could have lived without seeing this," Corvis said from somewhere next to Finn.

"Um," Radavin said.

"Nice," Zevran said with a laugh.

The man turned wide, almost frightened eyes to Finn, his pale, muscled arms straining against the cuffs. "It's not what it looks like!" he claimed. "Honestly, I would have preferred if it _were_ what it looks like."

"It _looks_ like your naked arse is stranded here in an empty room in a deserted wing with no other person in sight," Finn said, resisting the urge to burst into hysterical laughter; goodness knew the man probably didn't need that sort of blow to the ego at the moment.

"Should we, y'know, get him out of the cuffs?" Radavin pointed out.

"No, not quite." Corvis crossed his arms. "We might be able to bargain for information while he's trussed up like a roast duck."

"No need to bargain, I'll tell you everything," the man said hurriedly. No doubt he realized the four of them were his only key to freedom. "The Empress led me to believe I would be… _rewarded_ for betraying the Grand Duke. This…was _not_ what I hoped for."

"No doubt," Zevran said amusedly.

"Please," the chevalier said, "I _beg_ you, don't tell Gaspard!"

"No one said anything about telling anyone anything," Finn reassured him. "What was Celene supposedly rewarding you for?"

"The empress beguiled me!" the chevalier claimed. "Into giving her information about plans for troop movements in the palace tonight. She knows everything. Everything! The Grand Duke's surprise attack has been countered before it ever began."

"Clever woman," Zevran said, lifting an eyebrow; he looked impressed.

The man strained uselessly against the cuffs again; no doubt Finn, Corvis, Zevran, and Radavin standing over him like this was making him vastly uncomfortable. "She's turned it into a trap. The moment he strikes, she'll have him arrested for treason."

"Women using their femininity as a weapon is hardly a new tactic, I hope you know," Corvis told the chevalier. "Fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book. How cute. But regardless of _our_ opinions on it, the Court would likely see a scandal." He turned his head to Finn. "Make certain your sister finds this out."

"I will," Finn promised. "Alright, Ser Pantsless. If we get you out, the Inquisition will ask you to be prepared to testify."

"If your Inquisition will protect me, I swear it," the chevalier said. "Gaspard or Celene would readily kill me for this."

Finn nodded. "Alright, Zev—want to pick the locks and get him out?"

Zevran looked at Finn, across the bed and the naked man.

"Truth be told, Finn," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "without the most specific of tools on hand…"

"Zevran hasn't successfully picked a lock a day in his life," Corvis said, unable to hold back a snicker.

" _Stai zitto,"_ Zevran said.

"Wait, really?" Finn asked, dumbfounded. "Don't most rogues—"

"What, look strikingly beautiful in leather?" Zevran said. "That one, yes. But we cannot specialize in all things, _amico._ I have always enjoyed poisons and knives more than fumbling about with small locks."

Right; he _was_ an assassin, after all, not a street thief or a general ne'er-do-well. And Finn, a Keeper's apprentice, had never learned any healing arts—not everyone could do everything.

"That's fair," he said. "Looks like we'll need to find a key, then."

"Wouldn't it be on Celene's person?" Radavin mentioned. "We can hardly just waltz up to her and reach into her dress."

"Well, Shesi knows how to pickpocket, right?" Finn said. "What if…"

No, there'd be no way Warden Mahariel could possibly get close enough to the empress. Only thing left to do was hope the blasted key was elsewhere than on Celene.

"I sincerely doubt she'd carry the key," Corvis said. "She'd want the entirety of her focus on the peace talks, not on making certain a key hasn't fallen out of her dress. Very likely it's somewhere in here. And this door had a magical seal—she probably trusted it alone to keep people out."

"That wardrobe, behind you," the naked man said, pointing past Zevran and Radavin. "I saw her reach into it…"

A bit of searching—and rifling through old clothes, apparently, considering the sheer hosiery and silken socks getting flung out of the drawers—yielded a couple keys on a ring; Zevran jingled them triumphantly as he hung them from his fingers.

"If one of you cracks a joke that I cannot open a lock with a _key_ in my hand, I will systematically ruin your life," Zevran said, shooting them a decidedly wicked half-smirk before he slipped the key into each iron cuff, one by one, and freed the nude chevalier from his bonds.

"Anyone see his clothes anywhere?" Finn asked.

Four pairs of eyes scanned the room as the chevalier stood up from the mattress.

"Well," Corvis said, glancing at the man, "unless you're willing enough to gussy up in lace stockings, petticoats, and a rather faded luncheon gown, I think you're utterly out of luck."

"How pretty do you feel today?" Finn asked the chevalier; the latter looked about to retch.

Rhetorical though that question may have been, it was never answered. A sharp sizzling sound came from outside, making Finn's ears ring, and he instantly remembered what Corvis had said: _there's a rift in the gardens nearby. In case you wanted to know that._

"I know that sound," Finn said, every muscle tensing in preparation. "That rift will open and spit out demons any second now."

"And yet our still-nude compatriot must be brought to your sister, yes?" Zevran said.

"Yeah," Finn said, "and I can't close that rift. None of us can. But if there's someone out there who's about to be swamped by demons…"

"Zevran," Corvis said, gesturing, "even if you have to throw a towel on him, get the chevalier to the Inquisitor."

"As you like," Zevran said. Finn shot him a concerned look, about to ask if he'd be fine on his own, but the assassin dismissively waved his hand. "I have survived far worse than hunting for clothes with a naked stranger, _amico."_

"It's a common hobby of his, actually," Corvis said.

"You're one to talk, _donnaiolo,_ " Zevran teased.

"Rift it is," Finn said, sucking in a deep breath. "We can at least try to take out some demons, right?"

And with that, he rushed down the shallow stairs and out of the room.

Rifts—they really weren't hard to find, even the dormant ones. Especially when they made continuous spitting noises as they threatened to rip a giant tear in the Veil. Even easier to locate were the rifts that had a screaming person somewhere near them.

He flung open a set of royal blue double doors, running out…then skidded to a stop.

He didn't think he'd ever had so many arrows pointed at him in his life. Never mind the damned rift about to open; there was a half ring of archers in the short-cut grass of the garden, arrow upon arrow aimed straight for Finn's head.

A couple of archers wavered, shifting their aim from him to his sides; he knew Radavin and Corvis had joined him out here.

" _Bastardi,"_ Corvis hissed under his breath.

"Inquisitor!" came a woman's voice, up on the balcony overlooking the garden. Finn spotted a brown and white ball-gown and a head of cropped white-blonde hair. "What a pleasure! I wasn't certain you'd—"

The woman stopped. Got a good look at Finn.

Her face paled, even further than Finn thought was possible considering how ashen her complexion already was.

" _Merde,"_ she said.

Corvis burst into laughter.

"Expecting someone different, were you?" the Warden-Commander said, clapping a hand on Finn's shoulder. "Great planning, Grand Duchess. Perfect execution. Clearly _the Inquisitor_ walked right into your trap. How proud you must be of your accomplishments."

Finn was torn between laughing as well over the sheer absurdity, or being shocked that Grand Duchess Florianne had apparently tried to set up a murder-trap for Nani but been outplayed. Absurdity won out, and he ended up stifling a laugh into his hand.

"No matter," she said, obviously trying to gain the upper hand once again. "My master has never forgiven you for abandoning the Wardens at Adamant, Warden-Commander Nalida. I suppose killing you here will have to suffice."

"Good luck with that," Corvis sneered.

"As for the Inquisitor…" Florianne said, pacing a slow step, "if I remove her of her dear informants…she will never be able to stop Celene's murder until it is already too late."

"And I suppose you're the murderer," Finn said. "You got a pocket for a dagger in that ridiculous dress of yours? Or is it sheathed up your arse?"

"How _crude,"_ the Grand Duchess chirped. "Such a pity you will never know how the night plays out, elf. Corypheus insisted that the empress die tonight, and I would _hate_ to disappoint him." She smiled smugly. "Celene's death is a stepping stone on the path to a better world. Corypheus will enter the Black City and claim the godhood waiting for him. We will cast down your useless Maker and usher in a united world, guided by the hand of an attentive god."

"Uh," Finn said. "Does anyone present believe in the Maker? Show of hands?"

"No," Corvis said.

"Maybe a little," Radavin said. "Don't really give much of a fuck."

Casting some Maker out of his proverbial throne had hardly any bearing for the three of them, then. Obviously Corypheus entering the Black City wasn't something to take lightly…but he'd continuously failed that ever since the Conclave. Finn wasn't certain the circumstances were actually as dire as some would like to think.

"You will have no choice but to believe when Corypheus is your god," Florianne proclaimed. "I will deliver the entire south of Thedas to Corypheus, and when he has ascended to godhood, I will rule all Thedas in his name. In their darkest dreams, no one would imagine I would assassinate Celene myself."

Finn lost his composure.

"One," he said, trying not to laugh and failing, "you are literally crazy. Two, I think you might be the worst villain I have _ever_ seen. Who stands there and spits out their entire evil plan without at least making sure their enemy is about to die?"

"Seems to be a common thing among Corypheus's followers," Corvis said, sounding amused. "His terrible leadership can't possibly inspire greatness."

"Are you quite finished?" Florianne said in a clipped voice.

"No. And three," Finn said, "I think you're the worst _Orlesian_ I've ever seen. Where's the subterfuge? The scheming? The sneaking?"

"This is more like a sad caricature of an actual trap," Corvis said. "I can't say I'm not disappointed."

"I'm pretty hungry," Radavin said. "Can we finish this up?"

"Mock, if you must," she said, sweeping her hand up as if she was making a divine proclamation. "All I have to do is keep you from informing the Inquisitor, and victory will be mine." She took a step back. "Kill them. And bring me the Warden-Commander's head."

A second passed, a breath, and then the archers loosed their arrows.

Finn had no time to wonder if his barrier could possibly cover three people when not long ago he'd struggled with covering _one._ He reached as deep into his mana pool as he could go, grappling with tendrils of magic for the electric feel of the Veil, warping it and funneling power into it.

Corvis apparently had the same split-second idea. Double-barriers blasted out, surrounding the three of them in a shimmering blue globe; Finn could feel his own weaker barrier drawing strength as it merged with the adjacent one. The arrows glanced off the barrier, clattering to the ground.

"If we leave this barrier, the archers will take us down," Corvis said. "Finn, can you hold it?"

"I've got it!" Finn said, steadying his hands in front of him.

"Shield would've been nice right about now," Radavin muttered.

The Warden-Commander lifted his hands high above his head, grasping for magic, swirling it between his palms.

The garden…erupted.

Jets of flame burst up from the ground, spraying chunks of dirt and grass like shrapnel. Fire lit up the night sky in a brilliant orange cast as balls of flame rained from above like a meteor shower. The barrier muffled a lot of noise…but Finn could still hear a hell of a lot of screaming.

Making the barrier cooperate became steadily more difficult, especially when a fireball exploded down into it. Finn struggled with it, pouring as much magic as he could into his hands. It wobbled, making his heart skip a beat, but remained stable.

It could've been one minute or one year before the spell subsided. Finn sucked in a breath, letting the barrier drop. This small section of the garden looked like absolute hell; but it seemed to be contained to a small portion. Lingering bits of flame licked at the fallen archers, and a rose shrub was still on fire.

"What the fuck spell was _that?"_ Finn blurted out. He was admittedly tempted to learn it.

"It's a high-level elemental conjuration," Corvis said, casually slapping his hands against his pants to put out remaining sparks. "I've heard it called _firestorm_ in most Circles." He eyed the rift, probably making sure it hadn't spit out any demons in the commotion. "I prefer to call it either _good morning_ or _fuck you,_ depending on my mood. Whatever suits your fancy, really."

"Can you teach it to me? The _fuck you_ version."

"If I have the time, certainly."

"You were itching to burn something, weren't you, Commander?" Radavin stepped gingerly over a dead archer. "Well, now that the garden looks like the Maker took a shit on it…should we get to the Inquisitor and tell her about Florianne? Before it's too late?"

" _Someone_ should," Corvis said, offering a nod. "But this rift needs closing."

"Nani can do that," Finn said.

"Hold a moment." Corvis stepped up to it, curious. "I want to try something."

"Try what?" Finn asked.

"Rifts are tears in the Veil, yes? So the edges of it are Veil-composed." He walked a half-circle around it, looking up at it. "Mages manipulate the Veil all the time. Not drastically, but—it's done rather frequently. What if a rift could be manipulated in the same fashion with the right spell?"

"I don't know," Finn said, skeptical. "I've only ever seen Nani's mark work on it."

"Advancements in knowledge are never made without a bit of hazardous testing," Corvis said. "Let me see…"

He cupped a spell between his hands, readying it. Finn saw threads of erratic, lightning-bright magic jump around the jagged edges of the rift.

Then the rift fought the spell, pushing out an explosive surge of magic in a wash of viridescent light. Finn staggered from the force, struggling to stay on his feet.

" _Merda,"_ Corvis cursed.

The Commander's arms looked like they'd been seared from the spell backfiring. Shallow green scars tore into his tanned skin, spread from his hands nearly to his elbows.

"You alright, Corvis?" Radavin asked, jogging to him.

"I'm fine," Corvis said, shaking out his hands. "You win some, you lose some."

_That_ had to hurt. Finn sucked in a sympathetic breath. "I guess we'll have to leave the rift and hope it doesn't open? It hasn't _yet_."

"That's a risk we don't need," Corvis said. "I can throw a globe barrier around the rift and hold it until the Inquisitor can get to it. _You_ need to get to her, if you're at all invested in saving the empress. You'll be able to find the Inquisitor the fastest."

Finn lifted an eyebrow. "Why do _you_ care about the empress?"

"I don't," Corvis said, bluntly; he must've been either too tired or too impatient to play around with subtlety. "I don't give half a fuck about Orlais. But someone I care about could easily be blamed for the murder if Florianne gets away with it, and that's not a chance I'm willing to take."

They all had their own reasons, then. Finn nodded. "I'll reach her. Be careful out here."

"I always am," said the Warden-Commander.

Finn ran for the nearest door…then stopped.

Leaning against a marble pillar, tied with his hands behind his back, was a man with a grizzled beard dressed in a full set of armor.

Right. Gaspard's mercenary captain. Florianne _hadn't_ lied about him being here, apparently. No doubt he'd kept quiet during Corvis's firestorm to avoid drawing any attention to himself.

The man looked up at Finn with a disturbed expression; Finn stopped to untie the bindings around his wrists.

"Were those fucking fireballs coming down from the sky?" the man asked, standing. "Bloody Orlais."

"You're Gaspard's mercenary captain?" Finn said. "I don't exactly have time to talk, but…I'm here to get you to the Inquisitor. We need you to testify. As much as you can."

"Anything's better than this shite," the man said gruffly.

"I'll explain on the way," Finn said. "Let's go."


	56. Disgrace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit short, but I couldn't find a way to tack it onto another chapter; not to mention the next one is utterly self-indulgent romantic party stuff, so stay tuned for that. ;)
> 
> Also, Happy Thanksgiving to all my fellow Americans!

Nani might've been watching Grand Duchess Florianne like a predatory bird, if she hadn't been feeling quite so uneasy. As such, her gaze was probably more akin to a nervous deer as she subtly tracked the woman through the ballroom, trying not to draw attention to herself.

She had only Leliana's word that Finn was certain of Florianne being the intended murderer. He hadn't been able to reach her himself.

"Steady, Nanyehi," Cullen said from her side; she'd barely heard him approach. Too distracted by the Grand Duchess. Cullen held out his arm, crooking it at the elbow. "Walk with me? We might as well appear to be a couple meandering through the palace."

"Good idea," Nani said.

She slipped her arm through Cullen's and matched her steps to his, both of them striding slowly, wanting the appearance of an unconcerned amble.

"I don't know precisely how the peace talks have been progressing," Cullen said in a low voice. "But I believe the empress is about to give her speech."

He was right; Nani spotted Empress Celene standing at the head of the ballroom, her pale hands clasped in front of her. The Empress was an impossible sight to miss, with her shimmering gown of marine blue silk and metallic sunburst accents, and hair nearly as white as Finn's used to be.

She spotted Gaspard and Florianne walking arm in arm towards the steps just below where Celene stood, separated by only a railing. Nothing anyone couldn't leap in a matter of seconds. Briala had joined them as well; if the elf was fidgety about any of this, she gave nothing away.

"You're certain about this?" Cullen whispered down to her. "How reliable is your brother's information?"

"I would never doubt him, Cullen," Nani whispered back. "Not once."

"Then what are you going to do?"

Nani weighed her options.

She could, realistically, have her Inquisition soldiers detain Florianne immediately—yet the risks involved probably outweighed any possible benefit. Florianne would easily see the soldiers approaching and might use that to spur herself into action. Worse, if the soldiers _did_ detain her and she wailed and played the victim, she could easily turn the entire Court against the Inquisition until it was too late.

What, then?

If Nani waited too long, she'd risk fatal inaction. She couldn't rely on anyone else to be able to catch Florianne once the Grand Duchess went in for the killing blow. Doing nothing could easily spell Celene's death and Orlais's descent into chaos.

"I have evidence against her," she finally said. "We have sway in the Court. I have to get up there and call her out."

Just the pure thought of doing that, of standing up in front of the entire party and confronting Florianne, sent raw chills racing through Nani's body.

"Are you certain?" Cullen didn't sound so sure. "Do you have the time? What if—"

"Cullen," Nani said, looking up at him, "do you believe in me?" _Because I really need someone to._

His warm brown eyes softened. "Always."

She swallowed, smiled one last nervous smile, and then eased away from him.

It felt like her body was moving of its own volition, uncontrolled by her racing mind, as she made her way onto the ballroom floor and approached the stairs where Gaspard, Florianne, and Briala were standing. She barely felt the hard marble under her sandals, barely heard the slow wave of gasps that spread through the Court as each and every Orlesian noticed her presence.

"Do you mind if we give the Court another show, Your Grace?" Nani said, her back as rigid as a metal pole. "I think they'll enjoy it more than the one you're planning."

Briala eyed Nani curiously, then stepped silently away to the side. Florianne turned to face her, looking coolly down at Nani with thinly veiled contempt.

"What an unexpected pleasure, Inquisitor," Florianne said.

"The pleasure is all mine," Nani said, facing her gaze head-on. "Is that a bit of anger on your face? You don't like losing control of the party, do you? It was supposed to be _your_ party, after all."

"Surely you misread me," Florianne said, composing herself. "I am delighted to speak with you."

"I'm fairly certain I know what delight looks like." Tired of looking up at her, Nani ascended to steps to stand next to the Grand Duchess. Tension crackled between them, nearly tangible. "Would it _delight_ you to learn that I'm aware of your attempted murder in the _Jardin de Reverie?_ "

Murmurs rolled through the audience.

"What an elaborate accusation," Florianne said with a fluttering laugh.

"Not a baseless one," Nani said. "I'm sure Warden-Commander Nalida would happily testify against you, if he wasn't occupied containing your rift in the garden. You _did_ try to have him and a few elves killed, after all."

And a human Warden, one of the vanquishers of the Fifth Blight no less, would've had considerably more sway in the Court than just an elven Inquisitor alone. But she'd have to make do by herself.

The Grand Duchess squared her shoulders. "I cannot say for certain, Inquisitor, but if the rumors of scuffles in the palace grounds are to be trusted, then perhaps the Warden-Commander and those two servants should not have been roaming through areas that were already closed to the party guests."

_There!_ Nani had her.

"I never mentioned how many elves were present, Your Grace," she said.

A muscle twitched in Florianne's jaw. One of the noblewomen in the audience fainted dramatically; other partygoers idly moved aside to avoid stepping on her.

"Am I also to believe that the corpse of the council emissary in the gardens outside the servants' quarters was _actually_ murdered by Gaspard's men?" Nani continued. "You knew planting an obvious knife with a Chalons crest would lead towards framing Gaspard, wouldn't you? No one would suspect _you_ when his motives were so obvious."

She'd been hoping for an overt reaction from Florianne, but it was Gaspard who gritted his teeth and took a rushed, angry step forward, then stopped himself abruptly. Celene was still watching them silently from her spot at the head of the ballroom.

"It was ambitious," Nani said, "I'll give you that."

Florianne scoffed. "This is _very_ entertaining. But you do not imagine anyone _believes_ your wild stories?"

"That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin," said Empress Celene, her icy gaze shifting to Nani.

One sentence, a few little words, and the very air shifted between Nani and Florianne. The Grand Duchess had been stripped of her upper hand in a matter of a heartbeat, and she bloody well knew it. Her visage changed, lips pursed, eyes widening.

"Gaspard?" she said, almost plaintively, turning to her brother. "Surely you don't believe this? You know I would never…"

Perhaps Grand Duke Gaspard had never been one for the Game and its machinations, but he was adept enough in it to recognize an attempt at playing victim when he saw it. Nani watched him stoically turn his back on his own sister and walk away.

"Gaspard?" Florianne cried as a small number of palace guards approached the steps. Her hands hovered at her sides, aimless, and she took a step back.

_You are going to so enjoy Skyhold,_ Nani thought wickedly. "It looks like this is Game over for you, Grand Duchess. Thanks for playing."

Florianne sobbed audibly as one of the guards gripped her elbow, dragging her away in front of the entire Orlesian Court.

Nani had… _won._

Her Inquisition had, to be sure. She'd had eyes and ears everywhere, friends gathering information and secrets and gossip, Leliana negotiating every machination and Josephine tirelessly reading and adapting to the overall mood of the gathering. Better yet, no one had come to the conclusion that the unnamed brunette elven servant was actually Nani's brother.

To beat an Orlesian noble at her own Game was a spectacular thing indeed.

Celene watched Florianne's departure with a pitiless expression, then turned her gaze back down to Nani.

"I believe we should speak elsewhere, Your Highness," Nani said. "In private."

She'd said the first words there, made the request when it should've been Celene's order. An Empress should have had the first word over an Inquisitor, after all, had every right to dictate the actions of everyone in the room.

And yet the Empress nodded acquiescence and took a step back from the railing, ushering with a hand for Nani to join her.

***

There was almost a part of Nani that wanted to sit back with a drink or two and enjoy the party. And that was _weird,_ for her—she rarely enjoyed alcohol _or_ parties. Except for that glass of moscato d'oro she'd had a few hours earlier: that had been quite tasty.

Still; enjoying the party could not be on her list of to-do's, at the moment. That rift in the _Jardin de Reverie_ wouldn't close itself.

An Inquisition scout had brought Nani her armor, and she'd slipped off into a washroom to get out of her dress. Problem was, she had no experience with intricate garments like this, and Josephine had been there to help her get _into_ the dress. A few seconds ago she'd knocked over a glass bottle of soap while trying to twist around to reach the buttons at her back. Now the room smelled almost entirely of tuberose.

"Inquisitor?" That would be Cassandra, knocking on the washroom door. "Is that you in there?"

"It's me, Cass," Nani said, reaching over to unlock the door. "You can come in. I'm trying to get out of this dress."

"Maker forgive me," Cassandra said, slipping into the washroom and shutting the door behind her, "but removing that awful dress was the most satisfying thing I have ever done."

"Simple pleasures, I suppose," Nani said. "Could you help with mine? I need to get into armor to close that rift."

"Of course," Cassandra said. "Although I don't know how much help I will be. My fingers were not meant for this sort of thing."

Nani helpfully turned to give the warmaiden her back. "It's alright if it rips. Just don't tell Josephine."

"Certainly not."

Light-boned and slim as she was, Nani couldn't help but be jerked around a bit as Cassandra did her best to undo the buttons going down her back. Still, something small like that couldn't throw her off balance.

"I do not want to sound condescending or sagely," Cassandra said, tugging at a button midway down Nani's spine, "but I want you to know…I'm proud of how you have handled the masquerade."

"You think so?"

"I would not have been as patient as you," Cassandra said. "Not to mention Empress Celene remains alive and the empire has a moment of peace. So I thought to congratulate you on your accomplishments."

Nani chewed on her tongue.

She truly didn't know how her choices would affect the future of Orlais. But she had a sinking feeling that fighting for elven rights during the conversation following Florianne's exposure might mean trouble somewhere down the line.

Grand Duke Gaspard would be executed, she knew, punished for high treason due to the sheer amount of chevaliers he'd smuggled into the palace for the purpose of taking it by force. She hadn't stopped that. The Grand Duchess was in Inquisition custody, soon to be brought to trial at Skyhold. Yet after that commotion, when Empress Celene had begun discussing Briala's fate…Nani had intervened.

Maybe she'd let her own elven pride get in the way. Maybe she'd heard something in Briala's words earlier that had wormed its way into her mind and never let go. But she'd dumped every piece of information Briala had gathered at Celene's feet, tried to convince the empress of the elven ambassador's helpfulness. Then she'd turned to more devious methods. Gathering blackmail had been a good call on Finn's part; Nani had—rather ruthlessly—used it to force Celene into allowing Briala a position in the Court.

It may have been underhanded…but the elves of Halamshiral would have a voice.

But who knew how long that would last.

"I'm pretty sure Celene hates me now," she said with a light flutter of a laugh. "Even after I saved her life. Oh well."

"She is Orlesian," Cassandra reminded her. "You will never truly know. And while I would not have done what you did…Corypheus's plan has been stopped. That alone is a feat."

Right. Cassandra had never been a fan of manipulation and blackmail; Nani knew she'd always preferred the fist-to-face method. But Orlais had people to dump the blame on, now, in the form of Gaspard and Florianne, and Briala had a chance to speak up for the city elves.

It would have to do. It was all Nani had the _power_ to do.

"I believe that was the last button," Cassandra said. Indeed, Nani had to hold the front of the dress up to keep it from slipping entirely off her.

"Thanks," she said. "Time to close a rift, eh?"

"Now _there_ is some normalcy," Cassandra said. "To think, I would actually prefer fighting demons to something."

Nani laughed. "Let's get my armor on. Then…we'll go do just that."


	57. For Your Eyes Only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are: an entire self-indulgent chapter of romance scenes. Because I couldn't pass up the opportunity to make the most of Halamshiral before everyone leaves. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

" _Hold,"_ Corvis angrily ordered the barrier, his voice a hell of a lot more strained than it ought to be.

The rift's iridescent green scar fought the boundaries of the barrier's globe, a continuous barbed prodding against his magic. He could feel every push against the barrier, feel it burn feverishly under his skin as the rift struggled valiantly to release itself.

He'd been imprisoning the rift—and the demons attempting to crawl out of it—for the past hour.

The muscles in his hands and wrists and arms were threatening to spasm up, actually. How inconvenient. He gritted his teeth and flexed his fingers, coaxing motion into them without dropping the spell.

"If you drop the barrier for a moment, I can clear a wave of demons while you rest your hands," Radavin said; a stray breeze stirred the loosened braid of his cinnamon-brown hair. "I know it's a risk, but—"

"What a silly thing to say," Corvis said. "I rarely need rest."

"Right." Radavin shifted his weight to one hip, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your cocky act is real cute, Commander. Absolutely precious."

Corvis chuckled. "Why, thank you."

Hilariously enough, no one could close this rift but the Inquisitor, who was presumably outing the Grand Duchess at the moment. He rather regretted missing the party's certain upheaval. Stiff, he rolled his shoulders about; the continuous stream of magic pumping out of his hands was wreaking all kinds of havoc on his body.

The rift sputtered, a muffled screeching coming from within the barrier's prison, and a terror demon crawled out of it arms-first. It clawed monstrous talons at the inner wall of the barrier, finding Corvis with lifeless eyes and opening its disgustingly huge mouth in what would have been a piercing scream if he could hear the full extent of it.

The barrier shuddered, but held.

"Eww," Radavin said.

"What a handsome fellow," Corvis joked, taking in a shallow breath through his teeth. "Truly a paragon of beauty. I'm in love."

"Truly a piece of shit," Radavin said with a scoff.

"Sarcasm is lost on you, _amico."_

"Sarcasm is ignored by me, you mean." The elven warrior rested a hand on Corvis's shoulder, squeezing. "It must be taking a while to expose Lady Florianne to the court. Drop the barrier in a minute or so. I'll take care of the demons."

"Nah."

"Stubborn arse."

"You called?" Corvis said, smirking.

Radavin sighed heavily at that, but a fond smile tweaked the corner of his mouth.

"Shit!" called an elven voice with a melodious Marcher accent, and Inquisitor Lavellan barreled into the courtyard, a few people in tow. Corvis recognized Seeker Pentaghast, but the other two—a bald elf and a sturdily built man with a full black beard—were unrecognizable to him. "How long have you been holding that damn thing?!"

Idly, Corvis remarked to himself that in any other situation he'd have let the barrier fall a long time ago and casually walked away while demons swarmed the party and devoured nobles left and right.

This wasn't any other situation. Morrigan was here in Halamshiral. Kieran. Shesi and Zevran and Ellie. Corvis would rather die of exhaustion and fatal mana drain than let them come to harm.

His mouth twisted bitterly. He'd gone soft over the years, hadn't he?

"Long enough," Corvis said, in answer. His mana pulled tendrils of magic from the elf, strengthening slightly, and the elf cast a mild blue gaze Corvis's way. A fellow mage, then. "I could use several bottles of whiskey at this point."

"I can't do _that,_ but I can close the rift." Nanyehi jogged over to stand beside him, her blackened crimson hair escaping a bit from its elegant styling. "You may have to drop the barrier."

"Perhaps," he said. "How much influence do you have over your rift-control? I ask because if you're able to pinpoint the rift magic, you could feasibly seal it _within_ the barrier. Otherwise, I would highly suggest having it ready to go in a split second." He nodded his head at the terror demon still trying to claw through the barrier. "I presume I don't have to explain why."

The bald elven mage nodded knowingly. "I might be able to aid your focusing, Inquisitor. If you wish."

Nanyehi looked perturbed by all of that. "I…usually just point my hand at it."

"Lovely," Corvis said.

"That's what we're here for, yeah?" Radavin said helpfully. "If we can clear the initial wave of demons, Inquisitor Lavellan can seal it."

She cast him a curious look. "I recognize you. You're that—"

"That fake elven servant who blew his cover, I know." Radavin smiled nervously. "Warden Tabris, your grace."

"A pleasure." Nanyehi turned once more to Corvis. "Drop the barrier."

"Has anyone taught you manners?" Corvis said teasingly. The little elven Inquisitor seemed to have gotten too used to ordering people around in her brief time on the organization's throne…and Corvis didn't _do_ ordered around.

She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, for—drop the barrier, _please."_

"Because you asked so nicely." Corvis twisted his hands into fists, cutting off the steady flow of magic; the barrier fizzled, sparkling, and died.

The uncomfortable sensation was immediate, mana slamming into his hands as if by force of habit and making his blood vessels feel like they were swelling, then ebbing instantly into stark emptiness that made him lightheaded. Holding a technically difficult spell like a globe barrier for a solid hour had never been recommended by any magic instructor…but Corvis rarely followed rules or recommendations.

He forced himself not to cast, even as the terror demon lurched out of the rift and leapt straight for the Inquisitor. He had to let his magic settle into a calmer equilibrium, first. Casting now could dip too low into his already starving mana and cause him serious harm.

Not that Nanyehi knew any of this, based on the snappish look she cast him as she let an arrow fly into the terror demon's flank.

"Gotcha!" Radavin yelled, smashing his axe into a stray shade.

It was over nearly as soon as the bald elf readied a group barrier and the Seeker unsheathed her sword. Nanyehi thrust her hand forward, crackling streams of green light exploding from her palm and the rift and meeting in the middle. She made a laborious pulling motion, her teeth visibly clicking together, and then the rift snapped shut, rending the loose demons asunder.

Mana sloshed around like floodwaters through Corvis's hands and arms, ebbing and flowing dramatically like beach tides, and he continually flexed and curled his fingers, breathing deep to stabilize it.

"That wasn't so bad," Nanyehi said, straightening her spine. All business, this one. "We'll…return to the ballroom, I think. Are you coming?"

"At some point," Corvis said. "I think I'll explore the grounds."

The Inquisitor raised her eyebrows. "Right now?"

"Better than five minutes ago, yes?"

She pursed her lips, then nodded. "Alright. Thanks for your help, Warden-Commander. Halamshiral would've been flooded with demons if not for you."

He waved his hand dismissively. _I didn't do it for you._ "Enjoy the party, Inquisitor. Avoid the stuffed mushrooms, though. Trace amounts of nightshade poison. Orlesians like to live dangerously."

Whether or not she truly believed him, the look on her face said she'd probably never eat a mushroom in any part of Orlais again.

"Is it alright if I head back with them, Commander?" Radavin asked. He was clearly asking if Corvis would be alright without trying to word it that way. "I was hoping to see Ellie tonight."

Corvis nodded. "Go on. She's missed you."

Radavin's light-green eyes brightened, and he followed the Inquisitor and her companions away from him, out of the courtyard.

Finally—a moment to himself.

He didn't stray too far from the spot he'd been standing in; he found a white marble bench and sat down on it, draping one arm over the back of it.

Easy as the Game was for him to figure out and play, it still exhausted him. Every noble in the room had their own personal stake in it, their own motivations, and every noble in the room would happily take advantage of a weakness if presented with one. Setting things on fire for no particular reason was much more fun than this. He'd probably burn down a shrub for his own amusement if his mana wasn't still stabilizing.

_I'm too old for this shit,_ he thought. He'd reach his thirty-sixth nameday in only half a year. Not that he shared that with anyone; he'd been telling most of the curious partygoers that he was twenty-two, just because he could.

Tired, he thumped his head back against the stone wall behind the bench.

"Well, well, well." The voice was familiar, alluring, setting his veins on fire every time he heard it. "What have we here?"

Morrigan. Corvis was way too impatient to sit on the bench and properly take in her appearance; he jumped up instead, closing the distance between them and taking her face in his hands to kiss her.

She smiled into the kiss, her typical wicked half-smile, and dragged him deeper into it with cool hands at the back of his neck.

Too long. It was always too long away from her. She smelled of freesia and silk, tasted of fine wine. He inhaled sharply and kissed her harder, brushing his thumbs along the smoothness of her cheekbones.

After a moment, wanting to see what she actually looked like now that he'd greeted her in his favorite manner, he took a small step back and rested his hands on her slim waist instead.

Most of the time he saw Morrigan, she was dressed in some sort of homemade garment that involved plunging necklines and a liberal use of buckles and black leather. She'd actually dressed up for the party now, draped herself in black and scarlet with golden lace trim around the neck of her ballgown. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, black as a starless sky and soft as pure velvet. Smiling, he threaded his fingers through it.

"It's good to see you, _mia cara,"_ he said.

"'Tis good to see you as well, my Warden," she said smoothly, her eyes hooded, as brilliant gold as fine Antivan jewelry. "I shall indulge myself just the once and say that I've missed you dreadfully."

"Of course you have, poor thing," he teased; she wrinkled her nose in distaste and drew her hand up to smack his shoulder, but he caught it instead, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I know. I missed you too, Morrigan. I always do."

"Your Calling," she said in a perfunctory manner; she'd never been one to prolong pleasantries. "You followed the lead I gave you, yes? Has it subsided in any amount?"

"It subsided after the Inquisition stormed Adamant," he said, his fingertips idly exploring the detailed fabric of her dress. "We aim to prevent the _real_ Calling from happening, now. Palla is leading the search in western Orlais at the moment. Radavin and I doubled back not long ago."

"After all this time, do you truly think I need protection?" she said.

"No." He shook his head. "You never have. That doesn't mean I'm not going to try, though."

"Men," she said, almost a scoff, but her devious smile said otherwise. Her hands slipped up his neck, playing with his hair. "T'would be fair to inform you that I will be accompanying the Inquisition from this moment forth. Empress Celene and Inquisitor Lavellan have arranged to name me as liaison to the organization—to remove me from Celene's presence, I presume. I see no reason to protest the position."

"The Court would probably be too suspicious now," he said with a short nod, agreeing. "Is Kieran with you? Has he—"

"He misses you terribly and asks after you nearly each day," Morrigan said, her gaze softening at the mention of their son. "No doubt he will be delighted to see his father."

After slogging through western Orlais for months, then trekking back to Halamshiral and attending the masquerade, Corvis would be equally as delighted to see his son again.

"I don't suppose he—"

" _Father!"_ a young boy's voice exclaimed, and a small blur shot out into the courtyard.

"Kieran, I _told_ you to—" Morrigan scolded, but Kieran was already racing towards them; Corvis dropped to his knees in the wet grass and caught the small form that plowed enthusiastically into him.

Thin arms wound tight around his neck, almost painfully tight, but Corvis didn't care. He buried his face in his son's shoulder and held him close, feeling the small frame in his arms shake with excitement.

"Father, I've _missed_ you," Kieran said, in the Fereldan accent he'd picked up from his mother no matter how many Antivan phrases Corvis tried to teach him. "It's cold and you're warm."

Cryptic; Kieran rarely meant things in the literal sense. Something to do with the old god's soul thrumming within his ten-year-old body.

He smiled softly, holding him closer.

Everything he'd endured over the past few months, everything he would surely endure over the next few…they were all worth it, for this.

***

"Damn," Shesi said, flopping onto her back on the bed and crossing her arms behind her head. Her chest heaved in a deep breath. "Shit."

Zevran chuckled deviously, leaning on one arm so he could trail his free hand up her belly.

"Have I rendered you speechless?" he purred, his fingers skimming.

"Probably," she breathed, panting and looking about the room.

She didn't know whose quarters they'd just desecrated, but it was an unholy mess in here. A shattered vase lay in uneven glass shards on the floor—knocked over by her ass when Zevran had swung her over to the bed, she remembered—and the sheets beneath her were in horrendously rumpled disarray. Her green silk dress lay over by the door; as promised, Zevran actually _had_ torn the thing.

Now that she thought about it, she wasn't certain how they'd be able to walk out of here without alerting the entire palace to their mildly destructive sex. Zevran's tunic hadn't fared much better than her dress, after all; she'd ripped it trying to get the damn thing off him.

He looked immensely pleased with himself now—hooded dark-gold eyes, silvery blond hair tousled and rumpled, tanned rogue's fingers trailing slowly up and down her body.

"So…" he drawled, finally raking his eyes up to meet hers, "did you enjoy the party, _gattina?"_

"Maybe," she said, biting her lower lip mischievously.

"Mmm. I do love that expression on you."

She snickered. "Everyone got really interested—and distracted—once they realized I was _the_ Warden Mahariel who 'accompanied the beloved Hero of Ferelden' and whatnot." Speaking of…she really missed Palla. Like, a lot. "Same with Ellie, once they realized she was _the_ Warden Surana. Naturally, I…might have taken advantage of that."

He grinned. "Oh?"

"I lifted a few bracelets here and there while people were chatting up Ellie and Leliana," she said, gesturing; she'd hidden them within her dress, they were in the pile somewhere. "Nabbed some glittery pink lipstick off a guard—not sure what that's about, but to each his own. Stole some earrings off an _ancient_ duchess or something. Couple of women had pretty nice perfume vials. I'll let you smell them later."

"No gold?" he asked, faking a disappointed face—he pulled off sad puppy-eyes startlingly well sometimes.

She laughed lightly. "You Antivans and your gold. I thought that went without saying. Did you nab anything? You didn't rob _Finn,_ did you?"

"No," he said, "our peppy Dalish friend carries almost nothing on his person. Not that I'd rob someone I _like,_ regardless. And besides—that Tevinter paramour of his is awfully sharp. I don't fancy taking a hail of fireballs to the face, do you?"

"Did you honestly mention taking balls to the face without laughing?"

Zevran's mouth tweaked at the corner, his eyes crinkled, and then he snickered and thumped his head down on her chest.

"I also finally found Corvis, midway through the party," she mentioned, combing her fingers through Zevran's tangled hair. "He got this panicky look on his face when I went in for a hug—'cause he's got this thing about not being squished in front of people. I did it anyway. Almost knocked him over. It was hilarious."

All out of love, of course. She counted their cocky, pyromaniac Warden-Commander among her three absolute closest friends—him, Morrigan, and Palla. A strange, eclectic assortment of people, but she adored them all the same.

Zevran shifted to rest his cheek on her sternum, releasing a satisfied sigh. "A shame I missed it."

"Yeah," she said. Her fingers trailed to his long elven ears, tugging on them a bit; she knew he liked that. "Next time we go to some stuffy Orlesian masquerade, though, I'm sticking with you. Small-talk makes me want to jump off a cliff."

"And we can't have that."

"We're sticking with the Inquisition, yeah?" she asked, rapidly jumping subjects. "At least, until Corypheus is dead."

"Such resolve," Zevran teased, his breath warm as it ghosted over her bare chest. "You've never been one for heroics."

No…he was right, as usual. Shesi's loyalty during the Fifth Blight had been to her fellow companions, not to Ferelden. Had she been the only remaining Warden, she might've tossed her hands in the air, fled to Rivain, and let the Wardens of other countries deal with the mess.

"This shit is threatening people I care about," she said finally. "Corypheus messed with the Wardens and gave us all false Callings. We nearly lost Ellie to the Fade when we stormed Adamant. I want that fucker chopped into a thousand miniature pieces and tossed off a mountain."

Heroics may have not been her thing. But _revenge_ was. Shesi didn't necessarily care about delivering the killing blow to Corypheus herself, but seeing him kick the bucket would be immensely satisfying.

"I'm rather excited," Zev said, cheerily. "Facing Corypheus should be an adventure."

"Zevran Arainai: the eternal optimist," Shesi said, sweeping her hand above her like she was making an important proclamation. "The cheerful assassin. Defiler of private suites."

"Lover of beautiful Wardens," he said with a wicked grin, shifting down to kiss just below her ribs; she admired the whipcord muscles in his arms and shoulders as he braced himself slightly above her.

"You're going to have to be more specific," she teased him.

"Mmm. I think I was pretty _specific_ a few minutes ago." He looked up briefly, then kissed lower down her stomach. "Although I will happily refresh your memory."

"Good idea," she said breathlessly, letting her head flop back onto the mattress.

He snickered, hooking her legs over his shoulder and lowering his head, and when she looked up at the ceiling, all she saw was stars.

***

Ellairia wandered the ballroom alone.

She'd tried to indulge as much conversation as she could—after all, once the name Surana had been mentioned in a group, they inevitably wanted to know all about her involvement with the Blight and about all the other more famous Wardens—but after hours of this her eyelids had started to droop.

Leliana had helped quite a bit. The bard had skills where Ellie didn't, skills that kept her on top of conversations, so having her around had been a blessing. For quite some time Ellie had stuck close to Shesi, too, but her fellow Warden had wandered off somewhere.

How many times was she doomed to repeat the same thing?

She was always the one who faded into backgrounds, wandered crowds without being seen, blended in amongst the plain and ordinary. It was mostly her companions who'd gotten their deserved recognition for their accomplishments during the Blight—Corvis had been promoted to Commander, Palla hailed as the Hero of Ferelden after slaying the Archdemon, Shesi remembered by Dalish clans all over for breaking the barrier between human and wild elf. Ellie was…just herself.

No…it wouldn't do to have these thoughts. Weren't parties supposed to be _happy_ occasions? And the Empress had been saved, after all. That was something to celebrate.

She plucked a single macaron off a nearby dessert tray and popped it into her mouth, savoring the sweet taste and crumbly texture.

It was easy to feel insignificant here, though, surrounded by wealth and glamour and beauty. Everywhere she looked, a glittering gemstone or flash of polished gold or ripple of expensive silk caught her eye.

Beautiful things, but…cold. Impersonal. These people were as hard inside as the stones and metal they wore as jewelry.

Someone bumped into Ellie, nearly knocking her into the table; she caught herself at the last minute and swiveled to look at the person, eyes wide. But the noblewoman just made a dismissive huff through her nose and kept walking.

_Ouch._ Ellie had banged her elbow in the scuffle, apparently, judging by the throb of pain it had just picked up.

She covered the spot with her hand and soothed it with a thin rush of healing magic.

It didn't help that a lot of these people were much taller than her; it almost felt like walking through an extremely colorful forest, a sea of moving and talking trees with faces behind masks. Odd image. Ellie glanced out the window at the pitch black exterior of the palace, wondering just how late it was and just how long the party had gone on.

Short though this absence may have been, in the scheme of things, Ellie found herself missing her clinic in Skyhold. Things were simple there—she knew her way around herbs, around a broken body, knew how to fix it and mend the hurts.

More than that, she missed Vigil's Keep like nobody's business. She couldn't even recall the last time all of the Wardens had been together, now. Different and unique though they all were, they were family.

If only she could just see—

"Ellie."

She turned around, her breath catching in her throat.

He was scruffier than she'd seen him last. His auburn hair was attempting to escape from the braid she knew he'd quickly thrown it in, and he looked tired, dressed in plain brown servants' clothes that nearly hid the musculature she knew so well. But the eyes were the same, green as mint, fixed on her like she was the most spectacular thing in the entire ballroom.

An overjoyed grin spread across her face, and she lifted her skirts past her ankles, running to him.

Never mind the people who'd probably turned to stare at the prettily dressed elf careening like a cannonball through the crowd. All Ellie cared about was throwing herself headlong into Radavin's arms.

He caught her, just like he always did and always would, lifting her clear off her feet and spinning her in an enthusiastic, dizzying circle. Ellie clung to him with both arms around his neck, breathing him in.

"I didn't know you were here!" she breathed, holding on to his arms even as he carefully set her on her feet. "I thought you…"

_For a second, I thought I was all alone._

"I'll always come find you, Ellie," he said with an encouraging, affectionate smile. "No matter what."

She'd been away from him for much, much too long. But she and Shesi and Zevran had been needed by the Inquisition, and so they'd left the bulk of the Ferelden Wardens and turned back, and she'd parted from his presence and his warmth and his strength.

"Rada, you weren't even supposed to be at the ball!" Not that she'd protest. "I—"

"You know how it is," he said with a grin, smoothing his hands gently along her arms. "Commander Nalida likes to pretend he doesn't give a fuck about anything, but he practically made us shatter speed records just to reach Morrigan and Kieran. And I wasn't going to pass up the chance to see you again."

"I'm so glad you did," she said softly. She buried her face in his chest, uncaring about the world around them. "So glad."

"Mmh," he grunted acknowledgment, brushing her intricately bound hair with his fingertips. "Has anyone told you how beautiful you look? Or do I get to be the first to?"

Tears pricked at the corners of Ellie's eyes, and she lifted her head to meet his gaze. Surrounded by beauty and elegance and opulence, by the most lovely things Orlesian nobility could buy…and Rada never once looked away from her.

"You're the first," she said. "You're the only."

He took her face in his hands, pressing a slow kiss to her lips.

"Then I'll just have to keep saying it until you get sick of hearing it," he said when he pulled back.

She smiled, wider than she'd smiled in a long time.

"I've missed you, Lady Surana," he said, an almost mischievous glint in his eyes.

"And I've missed you, Lord Tabris," she replied with a quiet laugh, pretending to be formal and poised for just a moment.

_Let's stay here forever. Just like this. Just as we are._

***

"Sooooooo after _that,"_ River Hawke told a noblewoman, downing another glass of champagne in one fell swoop, "I punched a deepstalker in the face 'cause I'd lost my daggers and it was leaping at me, and…hehehe…it went _flying_ off the ledge…"

"Oh my," the noblewoman said; she probably wanted to escape River's impromptu conversation about the Deep Roads expedition, but River was too drunk to give a shit.

Fenris was next to her, as always, watching her with a perpetually lifted eyebrow.

"And then—and _then_ I said…" She snorted, almost losing her train of thought amidst a sudden burst of giggles. " _It looks like the deepstalker has fallen from grace."_

"She's particularly fond of that phrase," Fenris filled in.

"Yeah," River said. She fanned herself; was it getting hot in here? Her face felt flushed. "It's _funny_. Varric laughed."

"Goodness me." The noblewoman's shimmery mask prevented River from seeing her facial expressions, but the slumped set of her shoulders made it obvious that she hadn't gone to the masquerade to hear River's drunken rambling. Still—River was a Hawke, and Hawkes existed purely to mess with the lives of others and get away with it.

This party was too damned stuffy, anyway.

"Oh!" River exclaimed. "And then Varric—"

"—swooped in and saved the day," the dwarven rogue said with a flourish of his hand, joining the conversation. He seemed to have enjoyed dressing for this occasion, if his attire was any evidence; his fancy tunic was all shimmering gold and bronze weave over crimson velvet, the laces opened down his chest to show off a veritable carpet of tawny, well-groomed chest hair. "Is Hawke bothering you, Baroness? I could have sworn I bolted the door to her cage before the party started. It looks like I'll need to buy better locks."

"Arse." River shot Varric a look, and he flashed her a wink.

"I assure you I am thoroughly entertained," the baroness said; bollocks, that. "Master Tethras, is it?"

Varric bowed. "The one and only."

"Miracles _do_ happen," Fenris said wryly under his breath.

"I must confess," the baroness said, "My husband and I have been reading your novels with fervor, Master Tethras."

"Oh, _those_ old things?" Varric pretended to be surprised. Maybe he was; River was probably too drunk to tell for sure. "You're too kind, madame."

The baroness smiled. "Might I perhaps ask a favor? It pains me to ask this, but…my dear husband has been dying to have you autograph his boot."

"Anything for a fan." Varric shot River another grin, squeezed her arm briefly, and then walked off with the baroness; saving the woman from River's drunken conversing, incidentally.

River looked at Fenris, who met her with a mild leaf-green gaze.

Whoever had designed Fenris's outfit for the masquerade, River wanted to elevate them to Divine and kiss their feet for the rest of her life. He looked stunning no matter what he was doing or what he was in, but this combination—pitch black velvet with trailing embroidered accents in brilliant lyrium blue—looked absolutely breathtaking next to his amber skin and smooth ice-white hair. As an extra special bonus, his tight black breeches hugged those perfect, slim elven legs of his, which River had been admiring whenever she was certain he wasn't looking.

"I need more champagne," she decided.

"That might be the last thing in Thedas you need at the moment," Fenris said.

"But the champagne has peaches in it, love," she protested. " _Peaches."_

"I am familiar with the fruit." He curved an arm around her lower back, leading her over to a cushioned white settee in a corner of the ballroom.

Her hips swayed loosely as she walked, swishing the aubergine skirts of her dress around her legs, and her matching heeled shoes clicked against the marble tiles beneath her. She was dying for another haircut—her inky hair was past her shoulders, now, and it was heating up her neck—but Fenris had expressed a fondness for her long hair, so she hesitated at chopping it short.

Before she reached the settee, she twirled in front of Fenris and took both of his hands in hers. "You should dance with me," she chirped. "I want to dance."

Fenris glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the dance floor, which seemed to be full of noblemen and noblewomen; not the most desirable setting for an elf who tended to shy away from snobbery and other such things. Still, she was right by his side, and she'd bloody well deck anyone who made him feel uncomfortable.

Naturally, he balked. "Do you really think—"

"I think it'd be fun to dance," she said. "Wouldn't it be fun to piss everyone off by crowding the dance floor with a drunken Hawke and a broody elf? C'mon."

"Do you only wish to dance for amusement purposes?" he said, frowning.

"Nope." She popped the 'p' sound as she said it. "I want to dance with you because you're sexy, and the most handsome and perfect elf ever made, and that frown is adorable, and I love you to little pieces."

"Very well." He'd apparently been swayed by her shameless flattery, if his taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor was any indication.

People looked their way and parted for them, leaving an ample space bubble, but River was unconcerned. They'd think whatever they wanted to think, and her reputation was her own; she'd embrace it, no matter what it was. Smiling like a love-addled village girl, she eased into Fenris's arms, the both of them swaying with the slow rhythm of the song.

"So…this party," she said, as Fenris gracefully led the majority of their dance motions, "do you think it's worse or better than the summer gala at the Viscount's Keep that one year?"

"It's hard to say," he said. "This party has all the disadvantages of Orlesian affectation and elitism…but I wasn't able to dance with you at the viscount's gala."

She remembered. That had been during their break, after Fenris called off their relationship before it really began so he could sort out his feelings. She'd danced with Isabela, she remembered now; that was a fond memory. The pirate hadn't even been invited to the party, but she'd slipped in as River's guest, much to Aveline's chagrin.

"We were all together as a group, back then," she said wistfully. "Maker, I miss that."

"You fixate too much on the past, River," he scolded her gently, his hand caressing her waist. "I would know—I've done so for much of my life."

"I know, I know," she said. "It's hard for me not to. When the mages rebelled and the Chantry went into action, we all scattered to the four winds. They're still family to me."

"Aveline is still in Kirkwall," he reminded her. "Perhaps we might pay her and Donnic a visit, when Corypheus is dead."

"I'd like that." She smiled. "For now…I've got good ol' Varric. I've got the Inquisition. I've got _you."_ She reached around his back and firmly squeezed his rump; his eyes widened. "And I've got your butt."

He cleared his throat, roughly. "I imagine my backside is poor consolation for your recurring feelings of loss."

"On the contrary," she said, grinning.

"You are absolutely shameless."

"One, I'm drunk," she said. A nobleman sneered at her nearby on the dance floor, and she flipped him the bird. "Two, I'm _Hawke._ If I wasn't being absurd at any given moment, people would start to wonder if I'd been body-snatched. Three—and this is the most important one, so listen close—you're hot."

His lips twitched at one corner in a sort of crooked half-smile. "You flatter me."

"That's the plan."

The tempo of the music picked up, and Fenris swung her around, then dipped her low and hauled her back up against him with seemingly no difficulty; she laughed breathlessly and clung to him, fixing her eyes on him.

"Suave," she said, winking. "What a gent."

"I'm full of surprises." His eyes were affectionate, soft; she always loved when he turned this expression towards her. It wasn't the most common sight, but it was one of her favorite ones.

She wiggled her hips with the dance, bumping one hip against his with a cheeky grin. "You planning on surprising me any more tonight?"

"If I told you," he said, "would that be a surprise?"

"No," she said. "You're right, smart one."

Unconcerned and unashamed, she wrapped her arms around his neck—an easy feat, since they were the same height—and leaned close against him. He smelled of silver and steel and the crisp tang of lyrium, and he felt strong against her, strong and dependable and safe.

No doubt they'd be thrust into more bullshittery the minute they returned to Skyhold. But as long as Fenris was with her…River knew they'd make it to the other side.

***

_Done,_ Finn thought, his shoulders sagging. _It's over._

The part where the Inquisition collectively bashed their heads together over worrying about how to keep Celene alive, anyhow—not the party itself. The masquerade was in full swing, partygoers chatting effervescently about the recent dramatics of a few moments ago. Nani was definitely the "talk of the town", so to speak. It seemed most Orlesian nobles loved a good social and political downfall when they saw one.

He may have still looked like a servant, to anyone who cared enough to pay attention to him, but he'd decided to forego any actual serving jobs. Time to relax, sneak a little wine from a tray, celebrate a little.

Smiling mildly, he leaned against a crisp white railing and listened to the music coming from inside the ballroom. Night air washed over him, bathing him in a pleasant chill.

"I cannot believe it." Josephine's voice was airy with breathless wonder as she joined Finn on the balcony. "I truly cannot believe it. Of course, I have all the faith in the world in our Inquisition, and in your sister, but the fact that we—oh, forgive me, I'm babbling. I'm just terribly relieved."

She'd done herself up quite nicely, he noted. Her long, silky dress took full advantage of her deep russet skin tone, flowing about the curvy lines of her body in arabesque patterns of dark coffee brown and glimmering Antivan gold. Her glossy midnight hair was clipped up in an artfully done bun, curly bits of it cascading from the knot. Golden loop earrings dangled from her ears, catching stray bits of candlelight from indoors.

"I am, too," Finn reassured her, offering a smile. "That wasn't easy. At all."

"Not for any of us, no." Josephine rested her hands on the railing, looking out over Orlais's night-darkened countryside and sighing. "The Game is not an easy thing to play, especially with such dreadfully high stakes."

"Let's hope we don't have to attend any more of these parties in the future, eh?" Finn said. "Especially not if Corypheus's dickheads are invited to them."

She nodded, smiling wistfully. "I will endeavor to reject any and all party invitations in the future, my lord."

"Hey—it's just 'Finn'. Just me. You don't have to _mi'lord_ me or anything."

"Oh…! Forgive me." The Antivan ambassador's face flushed a dark rosy color. "I've been so caught up in the party's atmosphere, and I…" She trailed off. "I suppose I forgot I am allowed the pleasure of casuality, sometimes."

"Of course," Finn said. "Unless you want me to _mi'lady_ you or something."

"Actually, I would—" Her cheeks burned further, and she turned her head away. "Maker."

Finn lifted an eyebrow, concerned. "Josephine?"

"This is so very silly, but…" She sighed heavily. "With these parties comes such a lovely air of frivolity and decadence and romance. And I almost regret having spent the entire party in a nervous state." She shook her head. "I should not trouble you any further. Might I get you anything? A drink, perhaps?"

"I'm fine," he promised.

"Do let me know if there's anything I can do for you," she said. "You've done so much tonight. Neither of us could truly enjoy the finer side of the party, could we? I had almost hoped…"

"Hoped what, Josephine?"

"That I might dance tonight," she blurted out, her amber-brown eyes fixing on him. "The music is so very lovely, and—oh, what am I saying? I…"

A pang of sympathy constricted Finn's chest. Josephine had worked her arse off tonight, dancing her social dance around the other players of the Game, and yet she'd gotten no chance to relax and enjoy one of the most basic staples of any fancy party. It must have been such a letdown for her, even with the triumph of saving Celene's life.

He couldn't give her everything she probably wanted. But he could do his best.

He half-bowed, crooking one arm behind his back and flourishing his free hand. "Would you dance with me, mi'lady?"

Her eyes lit up, and she hesitated for a mere moment before saying "of course, my lord," and slipping her hand into his.

She stepped up close to him, warm and smiling, and he rested a hand lightly on her waist, just above her hip. Dalish and uncivilized as he was, he'd had just about no practice with dancing and didn't have much technique under his belt…but he had decent rhythm and good control over his own body, so he eased into the motions without much trouble.

It was a little funny, being exactly eye-level with a dance partner—Josephine was almost precisely his height—but he really should've expected that, being as small as he was.

She locked eyes with him, then released a light tinkering laugh and looked away, her lips stretched in a mirthful smile and her expression soft.

"Now that I think about it," Finn said, briefly looking down to make sure he wasn't in danger of stepping on her feet, "I'm realizing dancing with an elven doofus dressed like a dirty servant is probably a pretty shitty reward for all the work you've done."

"Nonsense, Finn," she said, her eyes sparkling. "I couldn't imagine a better way to end the masquerade."

Finn smiled, lapsing into silence as strains of music continued to sweep over them from within the ballroom.

The minstrels ended their song, and after a moment Josephine stepped away, dropping her hands and clasping them in front of her. "You are too kind," she said, curtsying flawlessly. "You're a good man, Finn, and…Lord Dorian is very lucky."

Then she turned, stepping fluidly back indoors.

Finn lingered a bit outside, enjoying the crisp night air and the subtle chirping of crickets. Thinking. Then he trotted back inside, one thing on his mind now.

Or, rather…one person.

It occurred to him, midway through searching the ballroom for Dorian, that he had no solid way of finding him. Fuck's sake, he didn't even know what Dorian was wearing; that made it impossible to train his vision onto a single color in the midst of the ballroom's myriad hues. He flicked his knife-pointed ears, seeking Dorian's smooth baritone voice, but he didn't hear it.

He _did_ hear Iron Bull trying to explain to Cole that the glittery masks weren't the nobles' _actual_ faces; Finn snorted, amused, and kept searching.

Maybe Dorian had stepped off somewhere? Maybe he wanted some peace and quiet, or had business to attend to? Maybe…Finn chewed on his tongue, leaving the ballroom and wandering over to the stairway that led to the royal apartment wings.

"There you are," Dorian said, his voice a low rumble as he deftly spun Finn by the shoulders and pressed him back against the wall.

Warm hands cupped both sides of his neck as the taller mage leaned down to kiss him firmly, the weight of his body sandwiching Finn between him and the wall. Finn offered absolutely zero form of protest, leaning up eagerly into the kiss instead and snaking his arms around Dorian's middle.

Barely breaking the kiss, Dorian scooped Finn up in his arms and nudged the nearby door open with his foot, carrying him deftly into the private wing and letting the door shut behind them.

"Target located and acquired," Dorian said with a mischievous grin; Finn realized he'd carried him into an arbitrary room in the royal wing. When had he done that? Yeesh, Finn needed to pay more attention to things. Hard to do, though, considering the currently situation. "You realize your looking for me made the search for you all the more difficult, yes?"

"My goal in life is to make things hard for you," Finn said breathlessly as Dorian set him on his feet.

"Double meaning intended?" Dorian said, taking Finn's face in his hands and pulling him up into another searing kiss before releasing him. "Sweet Maker, I cannot _believe_ I endured that entire party without you."

"I missed you, too," Finn said, resting his hands on Dorian's chest over a finely made doublet of black and brassy gold. "Gods. It was weird, you know? I've gotten used to you always being there when I'm doing my adventuring."

"Ah, yes. Where would you be without my delightful wit and dashing good looks?" Dorian smiled fondly, stroking Finn's dark chocolate hair behind his ears. "I've gotten alarmingly used to your presence as well, you know. I kept thinking up scathing critiques of fellow partygoers and turning to tell you them, only to realize you weren't at my side." His face fell a bit. "I can't say I enjoyed that."

Finn chuckled. "You can always tell me them later, if you remember."

"True enough. For now…" Dorian pushed Finn's shoulders, gently, backing him up. "I think I'd much rather celebrate the fact that you dilly-dallied through a veritable elven slaughterhouse and didn't end up in a grave."

The backs of Finn's legs hit what was obviously the side of a bed, and he fell on his back with a muffled thump, the air whooshing out of his lungs. Dorian was on top of him in a heartbeat, nearly crushing him with his weight as he buried his face in Finn's neck and kissed him there; Finn wrapped his legs tight around the bigger mage's waist, craving the closeness he'd been missing.

"While you do that…" Finn breathed, finding Dorian's face with a wandering hand and tweaking his moustache, "I think I'll celebrate your stupidly handsome face."

"And my facial hair, I presume." Dorian pressed his lips just below Finn's ear, then raised his head to let their eyes meet, blue ice and grey smoke.

"And _everything,"_ Finn said, searching the other man's face. "I—"

_I love you._

Shit. It was painfully obvious, wasn't it? And yet he'd never actually thought the thought in words, tasted it silently on his tongue. His cheeks felt warm, his hands oddly sweaty, and he swallowed hard.

"Is something the matter, _amatus?"_ Dorian asked, raising his head a little further and smoothing Finn's hair off his forehead.

"No." Grinning what was surely an idiot grin, Finn cupped Dorian's jaw with his slender elven hands, hands that still bore the sea-blue tattoos Solas hadn't taken away. "Just thinking about you."

"Mm—good things, I hope."

"Always," Finn promised. "Maybe this dumb party put me in a cheesy mood, but—you mean the world to me. You know that?"

Dorian smiled affectionately; his eyes, grey as a wolf's pelt, softened around the edges.

"As you do to me, Finn," he said, stroking Finn's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "As you do to me."


	58. Rest Well-Earned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all have been enjoying the holidays! :)

Nani walked hastily to the Herald's Rest, her teeth grinding together.

Never mind that the mountain sun felt pleasantly warm on her back and she might've enjoyed sitting out under it for a little while this afternoon; never mind that the Inquisition had just arrived home from Orlais only a few hours ago and everyone could have _really_ used some peace and quiet.

Frustrated, she all but stomped into the tavern, letting the door slam shut behind her.

A few people looked up at the sight—and sound—of her, ceasing whatever they'd been doing, but most of the tavern patrons continued their lives without really realizing the Inquisitor was among them.

Finn's new dark-brown hair made it significantly more difficult to locate him, but Nani had sharp eyes. She spotted him perched on a stool amongst a group in the corner of the bar, dwarfed by Iron Bull's bulk—the Qunari sitting next to him made Finn look like a miniature elven doll.

Ah, and those looked to be some of the Chargers. Apparently her social butterfly of a brother had decided to get to know them on a more personal basis.

Nani headed over.

"I can't believe you actually took a contract to capture a giant," Finn was saying, holding a tankard idly in one hand like he was about to take another sip of the alcohol surely inside.

"Well it pays, right?" Krem answered; Nani spotted him directly opposite Finn. "Besides. Gives us some funny stories to toss about later."

At the mention of 'funny stories', Rocky and Stitches clanked their flagons together in a loud toast.

"Kind of like that _funny story_ about Dalish somehow casting fire with her oddly straight bow with no string?" Finn said.

"It's perfectly natural!" the blonde-haired elf protested. "They're flame-tipped arrows, and they're simply too fast for you to see the movements."

Finn was probably about to say something, but he cut off when Nani snatched the tankard from his hand.

She didn't even care what was in it at this point. She brought the tankard to her lips, tipped it back, and drained it. It tasted like ale, going down her throat—which was Finn's usual bar favorite—but she swallowed it down way too fast to even figure out what kind of ale it might've been.

Blinking, she lowered the tankard and let out a breath through her nose, wiping a stray smear of ale off her mouth with the back of her hand.

Finn stared at her, eyes wide pools of arctic blue, like he'd just seen his life flash before his eyes.

" _Damn,"_ Iron Bull grunted, crossing his brawny arms over his naked chest. "You knocked that back pretty good, boss."

"I needed it," she said, handing the empty tankard back to Finn, who accepted it gingerly. "Sorry, Finnie. I'll grab you another in a second."

"Nah," Finn said, shrugging one shoulder. "Watching you chug ale just gave me way more entertainment than drinking it _myself_ would have."

He scooted to the side on the stool—luckily, it was one of those stools with a rectangular seat that could easily seat two elves or one person with a rather large rear—and Nani plopped down next to him on it, bumping her shoulder affectionately against his. Her head spun a bit from the motion, making her lean a little too hard on him before she righted herself.

"I'm more curious about _why_ you needed that drink," Bull said, his one grey-green eye boring into Nani's skull from where he sat.

Why, indeed.

The stress involved with the events of the Winter Palace masquerade had certainly not helped matters. Nani was already predisposed to carrying stress deep in her muscles and taking days of concentration and meditation to get it to seep out; she knew that about herself.

Still, she'd been looking forward to a bit of time off upon returning to Skyhold. Maybe a _day_ before she returned to the strenuous daily grind of being the leader of a gigantic religiously-founded and militaristic organization.

But _no._ Thanks to the damned Chantry…

"Chantry's trying to elect the next Divine," she said, her mouth twisting in a frown. "Naturally, they seem to think we can just _donate_ Leliana and Cassandra to them for who the hell knows how long. It's not like we _need_ them in the Inquisition or anything."

Bull took a sip of whatever was in his tankard. "They thinking about electing Cassandra or Red?"

"I think so," Nani said, nodding once. "And that's all well and good, but…can't it wait until we've actually _eradicated_ the ancient Tevinter force that's currently threatening to bring about the end of the world?"

She'd never been one for drinking—in fact, she'd barely touched alcohol in her life except for a few times—and she was suddenly remembering why she usually didn't. Her insides felt strangely buoyant, her mind fuzzed over.

More.

"They'll just have to wait, I guess," Finn said. "The Chantry loves meddling with us, don't they?"

A barmaid stopped by, looking expectantly at Nani, who barely heard herself say "I'll take another ale" as she bumped against Finn's shoulder again.

"Maybe," she said, in answer. "Maybe it's another power-grab. I don't know."

"Chief," Krem said, glancing at Bull, "make sure that barmaid doesn't bring the Inquisitor that awful dwarven ale we tried the other night. She'll be turned off drinking for the rest of her life from the stuff."

Grim, another of Bull's men, grunted what could've been affirmation.

"She wouldn't," Bull said, glancing after the barmaid. "She wants the Inquisitor to like the tavern. She'll bring out her best."

Annoyed, frustrated, and exhausted, Nani paid almost no attention to herself taking the offered tankard from the barmaid a minute or so later and taking another gulp of ale. This one was a bit more pleasant than the last, sliding more smoothly down her throat; she tipped it all back, swallowing vigorously and only coming up for air when she'd drained the last drop of it.

"Maybe the…the Chantry should be more like this tavern," Nani slurred. "And just calmly serve ale."

"See, Nani," Finn said, squeezing her shoulder, "this is what happens when you try to binge drink after barely touching it your whole life."

"I need it," Nani insisted. The room spun; Bull was a grey blur at her left. "Fuck the Chantry."

"Nani," Finn said.

" _We_ need Leliana and Cassandra," she said. "Can't the Chantry just wait a little while?"

"All you have to do is tell them they'll just have to wait," Finn reassured her. "Cassandra and Leliana won't leave you when you need them like this."

"What if they _have_ to?"

"They—"

"I'm _literally_ trying to save the world, if that means anything to the Chantry at all," Nani rambled, her voice edged with venom. "But no. Their fucking religious figurehead is much more important than stopping crazy Corypheus from entering the Black City."

Her face felt flushed, overheated, like she'd been bobbing for apples in a bucket of scalding water.

"Catch you later, Bull, Krem, everybody," Finn said, hopping off the stool. "Nani, c'mon."

"Where are we going?" Nani protested. "I want another ale."

"No you don't." Finn motioned with a hand—how many fingers did he have? Oh boy… "If I'm an expert in anything, it's being drunk, and you're there. Let's go."

She got up slowly from the stool, swaying, her normally flawless coordination failing her; she braced a hand hard on her brother's shoulder and ducked her head, laughing softly for no reason.

"They going to gossip about this?" she slurred, stumbling forward and leaning her entire weight on Finn. "Tell everyone how the savage elven Inquisitor was caught drinking in a tavern? If I say 'fuck the Chantry' loud enough, do you think they'll put it in their stupid Orlesian newsletters? What'd'ya think, Finnie? _Fuuuuuck the Chantry."_

He breathed out an amused huff of a laugh, then bent, scooping her up like a child even though they were nearly the same size.

"You can't carry me," she protested, her head lolling back.

"I can do a lot of things," he said, bumping the door open with his foot and hauling her bodily out of the tavern. "Stand on my hands. Balance a spoon on my fingertip. Mimic a squirrel's alarm call. Carry my drunk-arse sister to her room."

Nani righted her head, letting her cheek thump against Finn's shoulder and closing her eyes. The sway of his walk felt nice. "Your _drunk-arse sister_ is cranky and would like more ale."

"Because she's trying to drown her problems instead of face them," he said.

"It's the Chantry's problem. Not mine."

"I know," he said. "That doesn't mean we don't have to deal with it."

"Fuck the Chantry."

"Nani." He was starting to sound exasperated. Maybe. A little. "Is this actually about the Chantry?"

She wanted to ponder that, but she couldn't focus. So she fell silent instead, trying valiantly and in vain to grab on to a single intelligent thought and hold it. The world slipped into unsteady darkness behind her closed eyelids, swaying and pitching like a ship at sea.

She felt herself, in an almost out-of-body manner, being laid down on her bed and getting a fluffed pillow propped behind her head. Groaning, she stretched her arms above her, feeling her back pop in a couple places.

"Finn?" she said, opening her eyes.

"Right here." Finn sat cross-legged on her bed, holding a cup between his hands. "Here, have some water."

"I don't want it." Her stomach lurched, twisting with nausea.

"I know. Just a sip."

She wouldn't fight him. He didn't deserve that. Breathing out a heavy breath, she pushed herself to a sitting position and took the cup of water from him. It was cold, slipping pleasantly down her throat when she took a sip, but she didn't want to force her stomach to accept much more.

Was this what being drunk felt like? What an awful feeling. Maybe other people had it better.

"Your face is weird," she said, reaching forward and poking his nose with her index finger. "All bare like you never had _vallaslin_ in your life."

He shrugged, smiling pleasantly. "It had to go."

Her face fell. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Shrug," she said, putting the water cup on the nearest nightstand and nearly spilling a bit of it. "Smile. Let everyone stomp all over you like the stupid Chantry is trying to stomp over us."

Finn lifted his brows, looking royally confused. "I don't let people stomp all over me, Nani."

"But you _do."_ What was that burning, tightening sensation in her throat? "Look at you. We took away your pretty white hair and your _vallaslin._ And you didn't even put up a fight, did you? You probably just smiled and took it all."

"Because I needed to," he said.

She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her bare legs. "We made you get slapped around and treated like shit. Sent you and Zevran into an elven slaughterhouse. Expected you to figure out all of our problems because—"

"—Because I could get behind the scenes when you couldn't, Nani. It's—"

"Stop!" she yelled.

He recoiled, eyes widening.

_Oh._ Was this another side effect of drunkenness? All these swirling emotions she couldn't control? How terrible…

"I'm sorry, Finn," she said, her eyes watering. "Don't go…"

" _Hey._ I'm not going anywhere." He leaned forward again, brushing his palm soothingly over the top of her head. "Don't cry."

"I'm not."

"It sure looks like it."

She sniffled, biting down on her bottom lip. How much hell had she put him through, making him raise her when their parents passed away? How much hell had the Inquisition put him through, put _them_ through? Most days she could square her shoulders and bear it, but for some reason, today…

"You remember when we left Clan Lavellan?" she asked. "To spy on the Conclave? It seems like forever ago. That was the first time you said 'no' to anyone."

"As if I would've let the Keeper send away my last family member and not let me tag along to annoy the shite out of them," he teased. "Besides. I say 'no' to plenty of people."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, I—"

"Who?" she said. "Enemies? Those don't count. When you care about people, you bend over to do whatever they want."

"That sounded dirty," he said.

" _Finn,"_ she protested. "Let me drunkenly ramble at you for a bit."

His eyes softened. "Alright."

"You didn't argue the servitude thing at the party," she said, patting her hand on her thigh for emphasis—not that the motion properly emphasized anything. "Creators, you even agreed to let Bull _throw you at something_ someday _._ And that's just in the past few months, you know. Whenever Keeper Istimaethoriel asked you to do something, you jumped to attention like a marionette. You remember when she got mad at you for being unable to get down that healing spell, and she made you meditate while balancing a jug of water on your head for two hours? And you got tired and yawned and spilled it, and she made you skip dinner and do it all over again? _I do."_

Even through her blurred vision, she saw his eyes glass over. He didn't like talking about past events—hence why no one knew the vast majority of them. Just her. "Keeper's Firsts are supposed to be able to heal."

"Keeper's Firsts are still _people."_

"I didn't get the spell right. I had to—"

" _It was cruel,"_ she choked out.

But that was Finn; always the first to risk his life for someone else, always the first to brush off pain with a smile. And Nani, a hunter with no control over him or her clan, hadn't been able to do a thing.

Damned bloody ale. She didn't want to be dredging up all these bad memories. But now they were vines, barbed, twisting around her heart.

"And…remember when—"

"Nani," he interrupted. "Please. Don't."

She scooted up, bending her legs beneath her and sitting on them. The sun was setting, she realized, beaming rays of mandarin orange and deep ocher through her bedroom windows. A stray spot of light settled on Finn's head, making strands of his dark chocolate hair flame bronze and gold.

"Tell you what," she said; her voice sounded weak, spent. "I'm the Inquisitor. I can tell the Chantry to shove off and leave Cassandra and Leliana alone until we've saved the world and all that shit." She grabbed his face, pressing a kiss to his forehead, right on top of the long scar where it trailed off above his right eyebrow. "And I can be the one to protect _you,_ now."

"What, stripping me of my _Inquisitor's Bodyguard_ title?" he joked. " _Now_ what am I in for? _Official Inquisition Broom-master? Most Valued Picker of Ripe Limes?_ "

Nani giggled, sinking back down to sit on her legs. " _Unnamed Accomplice,_ maybe."

"Gods. And I thought everyone had forgotten about that."

Her shoulders shook with a bit of a wicked snicker. "Not me. You _did_ go around introducing yourself to people like that, remember?"

"Yeah. I did." He smiled reminiscently. "That was a while back, Nani. Any reason you're drunkenly stumbling down memory lane?"

"One of us has to." Nani lifted her left hand, studying the viridescent scar seared into her palm, feeling it tingle and throb. Then she lifted her head, looking at her brother. "I mean it, you know. We're a team now. I'm going to have your back as much as you have mine."

He opened his mouth to protest.

"I love you," she drawled, leaning forward too far and flopping on him; he caught her easily and braced her upright. "Stay with me a minute? The room is all blurry and weird."

"I think _you're_ the one who's blurry and weird," he teased her.

But even if he thought so…he stayed with her, even as the sun slipped down the horizon and the burnished gold light turned to darkness, even as her eyes fluttered shut and she drifted off to sleep.


	59. Done and Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! Hope you enjoy. :)

Nanyehi slipped out of the main hall and down the stairs to the Undercroft, feeling chilled cavern air wash around her as she descended the steps.

Her head throbbed, her stomach ached like she'd swallowed poison, and any and every light was entirely too bright right now. She'd heard Finn mention hangovers before, but she'd never experienced one until now.

Never again.

Who in their right mind did this to themselves? _Willingly?_ At least she hadn't thrown up; that would've been an embarrassment. Although perhaps it would've cleared her stomach, made her feel a bit better.

The rush of mountain wind filled her ears as she descended into the Undercroft, and light bounced off the white mountainsides around them and gushed unhelpfully in through the gaping opening in the cavern wall, making her wrinkle her nose and squint.

"Is something the matter, Inquisitor?" Harritt, the blacksmith, asked.

It took a moment for Nani's vision to clear.

"I'm fine, thank you," she said, looking around and surveying the area.

Her favorite workbench down here had always been the one to her right, closest to the stairs—the tinting table, Harritt liked to call it. The shelves housed countless glass jars filled with a veritable rainbow of dyes, most of them too expensive for the common market. And she'd always liked the smell of inks and dyes, for some reason.

Rushed steps pattered towards her from her left, and Nani looked over, wondering why she couldn't see who'd just come up to her.

"It's such a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor!" said an enthusiastic female voice.

Nani looked down.

The dwarf looking up at her had pleasantly rounded cheeks, bright, youthful eyes, and rich red hair pulled back away from her face. She grinned cheerfully and lifted one hand in a wave. "I've heard so much about you, but I never thought I'd actually meet you. _Wow._ You're so pretty. And another redhead, too! Oh, and that must be the hand-Anchor-mark. It's—I'm sorry, I'm babbling. I'm just really excited. If you couldn't tell."

"Thank you, it's alright," Nani said, smiling back despite herself. "And you are…?"

"Oh! Where are my manners?" The dwarf bowed at the waist. "Dagna of Orzammar, your worship. _Arcanist_ Dagna of Orzammar. Magical researcher, philosopher, and master of practical application."

"A dwarven arcanist?" As far as Nani knew, the mage's towers didn't have any dwarven students in attendance—or, rather, she'd assumed. Dwarves couldn't wield magic, after all.

"I've studied magical theory at a half dozen Circles," Dagna explained. "Warden-Commander Nalida got me accepted into Kinloch Hold for study after I met him in Orzammar. And not long ago he told me the Inquisition could definitely use my services, so here I am! Ready and able and willing."

"The Warden-Commander, you say." Since when was Corvis hiring people into the Inquisition? Nani passed a hand over her forehead. He'd offered her a temporary alliance after the masquerade, true, and now he and Radavin Tabris had joined them and all the others here in Skyhold…but Dagna probably had gotten here before they'd arrived back yesterday. So he must have gotten word to her _before_ the ball.

Crafty. But if Corvis thought Dagna could provide the Inquisition something spectacular, Nani was curious more than anything else.

"Yeah," Dagna was answering. "Have you met him? He's the _best."_

"I'll take your word for it," Nani said. "I should probably get to know my new employee a little bit. What can you do?"

Dagna gestured around the Undercroft. "The stuff you have made here is…fantastic, but typical. Mundane. Old thinking!"

"It's what now?" Harritt grunted, looking up from a workbench.

"No disrespect meant to the classical trades!" Dagna said quickly. "But _you_ need a new perspective, Inquisitor. You need _runes."_

"Is _that_ what you're doing?" Nani asked. She had to admit, the prospect excited her. A runed weapon could do vastly more damage than a typical one. "Runecrafting?"

"I grew up in the Smith Caste," Dagna explained. "Combine that with studying at Kinloch Hold alongside the Formari for years…yeah, I can enchant weapons with runes. _Better_ runes. I've made adjustments. As long as I _keep_ making them, you can craft just about anything. Almost safely! A mage can make your weapons do things, right? But with the right _runes,_ the right rarities, the right patterns of lyrium that make it beat like it's alive…your toys become _wonders._ And I'm a dwarf, so I'm resistant to lyrium's effects too. Which means I can pull off things no mage ever could." She glanced over to a corner of the Undercroft. "Sorry, Alexius!"

Nani had damn near forgotten he was down here.

But there he was, the former Magister, seated at a semicircular table of thick ebony and surrounded by papers and magical miscellany Nani couldn't place. The mage waved a dismissive hand in their direction and bent over further, continuing work.

He seemed to be content enough with his research. With Felix having passed on, Nani knew there was nothing else tying Alexius to Corypheus. Shifty and a bit unpredictable as the mage might've been…she knew he wouldn't start any rabbles down here. He had no more motivation to.

"That sounds great," she told Dagna, looking down to meet her gaze. "I'm happy to have you on board."

"And I'm excited to be here!" Dagna gushed. "I've already started work on your first project. You want to come see it?"

Nodding, Nani followed Dagna over to a metal armor stand erected at the left side of the Undercroft, near the wall.

Someone had already arranged a chestpiece and a pair of pauldrons on the armor stand—men's armor, judging by the flatter slope to the breastplate. Nani reached out and touched it. The metal was probably silverite, based on the crisp silvery-white sheen of it, and it was silky smooth under her fingers. Both the breastplate and pauldrons were minimalist in style, but ornately crafted and quite pretty to look at. Swirling vine patterns had been hammered with careful precision into the metal. Slung over the stand was a thick bolt of cloth, as deep blue as a night sky just before it turned black and filled with stars.

"Wow…" she said. "It's looking incredible already."

"That _amazing_ metal you just touched is silverite," Dagna said, joining Nani at her side. "Tougher than steel, but light enough that mages and rogues can carry it just as easily as a warrior. And that fabric hasn't been added yet, but it's Imperial velvet. The kind some Magisters use specifically on their robes. Impossible to stain and resistant to rips."

"Who's this for?" Nani asked, feeling the velvet between her fingers.

Dagna shifted her weight to one hip. "Your brother. The battlemage one; I obviously don't know if you have any others. Your war council told me your priority was getting him better armor, so I started right away. It won't be done for another couple weeks…but it's coming along."

Perfect. Finn _was_ in sore need of new armor.

"We've got more parts to forge and enchant," Dagna continued. "Bracers, tassets, poleyns, greaves…well, you know. And then of course comes the fabric and all the pretty embroidery. But it'll protect him better than anything else has before, Inquisitor. You can count on that."

"Because of the silverite?"

"Partly, but—no, step back. And watch this." Dagna ushered Nani back away from the armor along with herself, then bent and plucked a rock off the floor.

And chucked it as hard as she could at the breastplate.

A dwarven smith's arm was no joke; Nani thought for sure the throw would be hard enough to dent the metal. Instead the metal emitted a burst of pellucid aqua light, and the rock _ping_ ed off it, clattering to the ground.

"It's an enchantment Alexius and I cooked up," the arcanist said, apparently too excited to let Nani ask what that had been. "I know similar things have been attempted, but not to this capacity. We wove the Tevene symbol for protection into the runework. Add lyrium, twist it the right way 'til it comes alive, and—there you go! That silverite casts _its own barrier_ when it gets hit hard. Cool, right?"

"Amazing," Nani breathed, dumbfounded. "And every part of the armor will do that?"

"Everywhere there's metal. I'm going to have the velvet embroidered with actual silverite thread, see. So even the fabric parts will have metal worked into them."

"You…Dagna, I don't know how to thank you enough," Nani said.

"Oh, don't!" Dagna waved her hands in front of her. "I've been using up just about all of your lyrium stores making this. Sorry, Templars. And that silverite is expensive. And I won't be able to do an enchantment this extensive for everyone, I don't have the time. Unless Corypheus decides to hibernate for a year. Anything else? You just let me know."

Nani nodded. "That's fine by me." She'd been wanting to outfit Finn with the best armor, regardless; as easily one of their best in combat and as her _brother,_ she'd have to insist on his security. "Consider yourself fired and immediately rehired at a higher salary, Dagna. Just so I can brag that _I_ hired you instead of Corvis."

Petty, maybe, and not entirely effective, but Nani felt like sticking it to him. He'd figured out her secret problem with peanuts, after all. _No one_ knew about that.

Dagna giggled. "Whatever you say, Inquisitor. I'm just beyond thrilled to work here."

"And I'm looking forward to seeing what else you come up with," Nani replied. She was already in a better mood, the hangover no longer as pressing as it had been a few minutes ago. "Tell you what—I'll let you get back to work. Anything you need, you just take it out of the Inquisition stocks. This is important."

"I'll be here when you need me!" Dagna proclaimed, cheerily waving Nani goodbye and returning to one of the workbenches, before Nani turned and strode back up the stairs.

***

Nani almost felt like a sissy, ordering a glass of pear juice at the bar counter instead of an actual bona fide drink.

Still. One, it was only around noon; two, she wasn't quite out of the woods yet, regarding her hangover from last night. Had it been her choice, she wouldn't have even stepped a toe in the tavern and breathed in ale fumes until the hangover was completely gone. But Blackwall had seemed to want company, badly, so she'd relented.

Luckily, the dwarven barkeep made no comments on her choice of drink as he handed her a glass of freshly chilled pear juice and slid a tankard of lager in front of Blackwall. Quietly, Nani brought the glass to her lips and took a sip, feeling cold juice slip pleasantly down her throat.

The barkeep moved on to a table near the back of the tavern, chatting with the only other person in there. Even Maryden, the bard, wasn't around.

Nani glanced at Blackwall, who was staring contemplatively in front of him.

"How much do you know about me, Inquisitor?" he finally asked. "Truthfully."

"Not much," she admitted. Out of all of her companions, she knew the least about Blackwall. Even Cole, who quite literally wasn't even _human_ but a spirit out of the Beyond taken shape, was less mysterious to her than the warrior on the bench next to her.

He rarely talked about his past. She knew he was a Warden, sure, but that was it—and that didn't tell her much. Wardens tended to have all number of varied pasts. Orlais's Wardens hadn't reached Ferelden in time to help stop the Blight, so he hadn't been at _that_ battle. He was born in Markham, he'd said, and his life mostly revolved around traveling far and wide and bringing in recruits. That was it.

He was silent, so she continued. "Is there something wrong, Blackwall?"

Apparently he'd decided not to answer directly. "When I was a boy," he said, jumping right into what was very likely bothering him, "there were these urchins who roamed the streets near my father's house." He took a long, slow pull of lager, then tiredly set the flagon down in front of him. "One day, they found a dog. A wretched little thing. It came to them for food."

"As they often do," Nani said.

"They caught it," Blackwall said. "Tied a rope around its neck, and strung it up."

Nani choked on her juice and set down the glass. " _Blackwall—"_

The warrior fixed hard-set grey eyes on her. "Do you know what I did?"

" _Why_ would I—"

"Just listen." His voice was awfully stern. "I. Did. _Nothing._ Not a damn thing. It was crying. I saw the kicking legs, the neck straining and twisting…and I turned around, went inside, and closed the door." His thick black brows furrowed. "I could've told my father, or alerted someone. I didn't. I just pretended it wasn't happening."

Unsure of what to say, Nani stared down at her hands, thin archer's hands with scuffs and calluses and a rippling green scar on the left palm. This had obviously happened to Blackwall a long time ago; a traumatic event for a child to experience, to be sure, but she wasn't certain what had triggered him to remember it now.

"Look," she said finally, "just because something awful happened as a child…"

"I still knew right from wrong," he growled. "I knew what suffering was. And I may as well've tied the noose myself."

"That's not true."

He fixed her with pained eyes; he was hurting, she could tell, but _why?_ He wouldn't just come out and say it. "Is inaction any better, Inquisitor? We _could_ make the world better. It's just easier to shut our eyes."

"But we aren't." She shifted on the bench, straightening her back a bit. "We _are_ working to make the world better, both of us. This isn't inaction, what we're doing."

His gaze softened a touch.

"Look at you," he said. "You would've done the right thing. We're lucky there are people like you in the world."

"Are we?" she said, almost a joke.

"You're an incredible woman, Nanyehi. Never doubt it." Blackwall looked away, gazing at the tavern wall. "And there's always some dog out there, some fucking mongrel that doesn't know how to stay away."

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

"I only want you to know where I stand," he said, rising from his seat.

He hadn't even drained his lager yet, but he left it and her there, leaving the tavern with a stiff set to his shoulders.

***

Finn shook his arms out to loosen them, closing his eyes for just a second to enjoy the sun on his back.

"Ready to go again?" Corvis said; Finn opened his eyes and found the Antivan mage watching him with those odd eyes of his, black-ringed gold and sharp as a falcon's.

"In a second," Finn said, taking a deep breath. "I'm a bit tired. This is some pretty intense stuff."

" _Certo._ Take your time."

"That exchange would be hilarious without context," Varric said from behind Finn, who swiveled around to give the dwarf a look. The equally timed look Dorian shot Varric, however, was much more impressively snappish.

Maybe practicing intense magical spells in Skyhold's garden wasn't the most considerate of ideas, but Finn had been too interested in learning the mechanics of the fireball spell Corvis had used in Halamshiral, and the Warden-Commander didn't seem overly concerned about burning a few shrubs. There was also the fact that Corvis, having remembered Finn was predominantly an ice mage, had spent a while tweaking the already existing fireball spell into an equivalent icy one.

Luckily, there wasn't anyone in the garden today—save for Dorian, Varric, Zevran, and Shesi, who'd arranged themselves on padded wicker furniture to watch the training session.

"I can't believe you're still watching this," Finn said to all of them.

"What could possibly be absurd about us watching?" Dorian asked, resting one arm lazily on the back of the wicker settee. "Some of us will take any chance we can get to experience some rare Fereldan sun, you know. Not to mention the view is rather spectacular."

"What," Finn said, "the garden? Sure, sure. That's a mighty fine rosebush over there. Stunning shit. And don't forget about that pot of mushrooms over there. That's a masterpiece."

Dorian lifted an eyebrow.

Shesi, who was lounging on her back with her head pillowed on Zevran's lap, lifted a leg in the air and studied her foot. "He's talking about _you_ , Finn. Just so you know."

Finn pretended his face didn't heat a bit at that, although Dorian just shrugged and smirked, like Shesi had the right of it.

Varric whipped out a quill pen and a small notepad from seemingly nowhere and began furiously jotting words down.

"Actually," Zevran said, lounging in his seat and idly stroking Shesi's hair, "it's rather warm today, don't you think? Haven't you both thought about discarding your shirts and enjoying the sunshine?"

"Valiant attempt," Corvis said, laughing.

Finn snorted loudly. "Practice _magic?_ Shirtless? I don't have _that_ big of a death wish." Nor was he usually one to walk about shirtless, anyway. Gods forbid the general public see all those claw and teeth scars.

Varric continued to scribble down words—probably exact transcriptions of what they were saying. Finn had to wonder how silly he was making his newest novel, if he was copying down _this_ shit.

Finn shook his head fondly, about to ready his hands for another spellcast, when the small form of a child barreled into Corvis and hugged him around the middle, nearly knocking him over.

"Ah! _Salve, passerotto,"_ Corvis said, reaching down to ruffle the boy's dark nearly-black hair. Finn caught a brief glimpse of cute, boyish features and big amber eyes before the boy nuzzled his face into his father's side. "Have you met the Inquisitor's brother yet, Kieran? This is Finn—"

"—Aoëthian," Kieran finished, straightening and staring right through Finn's soul. He cocked his head. "Your blood is very cold."

Finn blinked.

"I, uh…use a lot of ice, probably," he eventually said, wondering if the boy had misheard his surname somewhere. Had to be…that was an awfully ornate name to have made up on the spot for no reason.

"No." Kieran shook his head. "Ice uses _you_. _Ina…inan'nislean._ It's important. So much blue and white."

Hadn't the Nightmare called Finn that, when they'd been trapped in the Fade? Blue-eyes. Critical thinking had never been one of Finn's strong suits, but even he wasn't blind to this _having_ to be more than an uncanny coincidence. Nor was he blind...or, well, deaf...to how well ancient Elvish had rolled off the young Fereldan boy's tongue.

Corvis, probably well-used to hearing his son make oddly insightful proclamations, rubbed Kieran's shoulders from behind. "Where is your mother, _passerotto?_ I can't imagine she likes you barreling about Skyhold without her in sight."

Mother, mother…who was Kieran's mother? Right—Morrigan. Finn had caught a couple glimpses of her so far, but hadn't been able to strike up a conversation. There'd been whispers about her being one of the "dreaded" Witches of the Wilds, too. She was a beautiful woman, though, striking and poised and wild, although her glares looked dangerous enough to turn lesser men into stone.

"Mother wants me to study," Kieran said, craning his head up to look at his father. "I wanted to see you make things bright."

"Morrigan will flay me if she thinks I am turning you into a little pyromaniac," Corvis said with a light chuckle.

"There's nothing wrong with taking pleasure in the fiery side of things," Dorian said cheerily. "So long as one doesn't murder too many innocents in the process."

Finn was itching to get back to the _fiery side of things—_ as in, trying to master that fireball-turned-ice spell—but a look over his shoulder buried that idea. There was Nani, stepping nimbly over a mess of upturned rocks and heading towards them, and she looked a bit out of sorts.

"Inquisitor," Shesi greeted.

"Sharpshot," Varric said.

"What's up, Nani?" Finn asked.

"Nothing," she said. "Just had a…chat, with someone. About things." She glanced at Corvis. "I know what you did, by the way."

"What I did?" said the Commander. "Oh. You speak of the burnt straw pile near the stables? The ashes will clear in the wind, have no fear."

"No, not—what? Did you burn that down?"

"Potentially. I can't imagine a situation where I'd pass a straw pile and _not_ burn it."

Nani shook her head roughly. "That's not what I'm talking about."

"Shall I continue to play dumb, or cut to the chase?" Corvis said. "You spoke with Dagna, I assume."

"Yeah," Nani said. "And I'd get on your case for somehow managing to hire people into my Inquisition without me even knowing about it, but…she does incredible work. I'm impressed. And I rehired her at a higher wage, so now she's _my_ employee. Just so you know."

Corvis smiled pleasantly. "All well and good, Inquisitor. She is very skilled at her craft."

"How did you do it, though? Did you go through Leliana? I know you've known her a long time."

"If I revealed all of my secrets, _amica,_ they would not be secrets." The Warden shifted his weight to one hip. "Not to mention, you might do well to make more thorough checks regarding those in your employment. I take it you haven't realized my mother is your head cook or that I have two distant cousins in Leliana's spy network."

Zevran snickered from his spot on the settee.

Nani's jaw dropped, but she shut it as quickly as she could. "I really want to give you shit for that. But if that's your _mother_ making all of my meals, she's a fantastic cook."

Damn right she was. Finn always got extra excited when he smelled food being prepared in the kitchens. Not to mention she made a mean risotto.

" _Si,"_ Corvis said. "She is happy to work, and I don't have to worry about her safety while she's surrounded by Inquisition forces. A win-win, yes?"

"Yeah, you're right. I—" Nani glanced over her shoulder. "Is that a…hold on. I'll be right back."

She trotted off, approaching an Inquisition agent who'd entered the garden; Finn watched her, curious, barely aware in the back of his mind of Zevran and Dorian picking up a friendly debate over Antivan wines versus Imperial ones. Nani spoke with the agent for a minute or so, then returned to join them, a troubled furrow forming between her brows.

"You okay?" Finn asked.

Her eyebrows pulled together even further, and she glanced at Finn. "Blackwall is…gone."

"What do you mean?" Finn said, confused. "Maybe he just got stuck in the lavatory. Ate too much cheese. You know how it goes."

"No…" she said. "Look at this."

She handed Finn a crumpled scrap of paper, and he unfolded it, reading the words written scratchily on its surface:

_Inquisitor,_

_You've been a friend and an inspiration. You've given me the wisdom to know right from wrong and, more importantly, the courage to uphold the former._

_It's been my honor to serve you._

"Whatever's on that paper, it appears to have troubled you as well, _amatus."_ Dorian stood and came up behind Finn, reading the note over his shoulder. "Well. I can't say I'd expected the hairy lummox to be so utterly _vague._ Have you any clue where he might have scurried off to, Nanyehi?"

She nodded. "The agent said Leliana thinks he's gone off to attend a trial in Val Royeaux. I…don't understand. What's so important about a trial that he left the Inquisition? There can't possibly be any Warden business more important than killing the ancient Tevinter darkspawn god-thing."

"Wannabe-god-thing," Finn corrected. "Corypheus kind of blows arse at godhood right now."

Corvis's eyebrow shot upwards. "Warden business, you say?"

"Yeah," Nani said. "You've probably met Warden Blackwall before, right? He is—was?—the Warden-Constable of Orlais, after all."

"I have," Corvis said, "but that was years ago, and he certainly hasn't made any appearances in Skyhold."

"You're shitting me," Nani said. "He accompanies me lots of places. I _know_ you've seen him. Deep-set eyes, really thick black beard. And he—"

The Warden-Commander crossed his arms over his chest. "I suppose I have no reason _not_ to inform you that your copiously-bearded companion is most certainly not Warden Blackwall."

There was a long, heavy silence. Dorian idly played with Finn's hair from behind.

Nani heaved a frustrated sigh. "He…wouldn't lie about that. He _wouldn't."_

"Don't tell me I have to change his entire nickname, Fireball," Varric said.

"I would have sensed the Taint in his blood," Corvis said calmly, glancing at Nani and swapping his tone of voice to something one might use to avoid spooking a nervous deer. "Every Warden can sense each other in that manner."

"It's true, Nanyehi," Shesi said, sitting up. "I never sensed anything in him, either."

Nani turned to Shesi. "You've never mentioned that before. Nor has Ellie."

"She wouldn't have wanted to ruffle feathers, and I wanted to figure out _why_ he was lying about it before I brought it to you," the elven Warden said. "But apparently I ran out of time."

Varric grunted. " _Shit."_

Nani scrubbed her face with her hands. "No. No, we're not out of time just yet." She looked haggard and frustrated when she finally dropped her hands. "It looks like I'm returning to Orlais immediately, I suppose. I _need_ to know why he'd bail on the Inquisition at a time like this. And bring him back, if possible. I feel like there's something big I missed while he was talking to me." She squared her shoulders. "Shesi, Zevran, if you would come with me, I'd really appreciate it. I get the feeling I might have need of an _actual_ Warden."

"Of course," Shesi promised. Zevran nodded his agreement.

"You want me to join you, Nani?" Finn offered.

She shook her head. "Actually, I need you leading a team in Emprise du Lion, Finn. There's a red lyrium operation the Inquisition needs to shut down."

"And what about Corypheus?"

"As far as we know," she said, "we aren't aware of his current location yet. No base of operations, no obvious plans, nothing. Cullen and I have been working together to try and nab Samson, and apparently something in the Emerald Graves pointed towards the operation in the Emprise."

Finn wouldn't argue. Up until this point, they'd had the dark future shown to them in Redcliffe as a means of deciphering Corypheus's plans and cutting them off at the pass. Now? They might as well have been stumbling around in the dark. Hence, enlisting as many trusted allies as possible and going after Samson.

"I can handle that," he said. "You might have enough on your hands with whatever Blackwall's up to."

Nani exhaled heavily. "I'll send the Chargers somewhere, too, and try to pick up my own slack. Thanks, Finn. I'll owe you big time after this."

"What are brothers for?" he said with a smile.

Her tense expression eased a bit, and she smiled back, then plopped unceremoniously on one of the wicker benches with a loud rush of breath and closed her eyes like she didn't intend to open them for the next five years.

Wherever Blackwall had gone, Finn knew, whatever he was doing...he'd have to answer for it.


	60. White Hair and Blue Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And off we go, merrily abandoning canon. :) Enjoy!

"I take back everything I have ever said," Dorian groaned. "Every word of it. This is easily the worst weather I have ever been outside in."

"I'm with you there, Sparkler," Varric agreed. "This cold is absolute shit."

"Too right, my friend," Dorian said.

River's teeth chattered in agreement. Fenris just looked…unimpressed.

"And then," Varric said, pointing straight at Finn, "there's _this_ crazy asshole."

Whether it had something to do with ice magic or not, Finn had always loved the cold. No, that wasn't even a sufficient description—he _adored_ the cold, cherished the iced-over breaths he could see puffing out of his mouth in front of him, grew unreasonably giddy at the sight of crisp white snow and the feel of a dry, chilled breeze against his skin.

As such, he was easily the only person in the entirety of Emprise du Lion currently wearing sleeveless armor, baring his amber-skinned and tattooed arms to the elements.

"You lot are a bunch of whiners," he teased, making a point of sucking in a deep draught of freezing air and grinning contentedly. "Mm. Really clears the airways."

"I'll _clear your airways,"_ Varric grumbled under his breath.

"Save that hilariously vague violence for the rest of the Red Templars, alright?" Finn said, amused. "We've got…one mine left to go, I think."

He glanced up at the high rock walls of the open-air mine they were standing in, surveying the place.

Sahrnia Quarry, as Nani had explained, had been taken over by Corypheus's Templars and turned enthusiastically into a red lyrium mine. The stuff had parasitized nearly every rock face in the quarry, jutting out in jagged chunks, making the entire canyon hum with its sickly, ever-present vibrations. Worse still, it had quickly become evident _how_ the Templars had grown the lyrium; buried deep within the warped blood-orange crystals of lyrium were scattered corpses, their bodies half-eaten by utterly unnatural decay.

Being around so much raw, exposed lyrium was dangerous, _especially_ for a mage. The stuff had leached its noxious, rotting aura into the air around it, making Finn's stomach feel like it had twisted into a thousand nauseating knots.

Still, he'd felt worse. And the cold was nice—couldn't complain about that.

Fenris hadn't noted any discomfort around the red lyrium, although gods knew the elven warrior would probably never tell a soul even if his body was rotting from the inside out. He didn't trust them enough. It had seemed a dodgy move, having him join them to clear out lyrium mines…but they'd needed a warrior present, and Finn's knight-enchanting wasn't _quite_ at the point where he could tank an entire battalion of Red Templars and survive it. Not that he wouldn't ever be tempted to try, given the opportunity.

Still—Blackwall had disappeared from Skyhold, and Nani and Cassandra had left on his tail. Iron Bull and his Chargers had been tasked with reclaiming what they could of the mess that was the Exalted Plains, and Radavin, being one of Commander Nalida's Wardens, wasn't exactly under Inquisition jurisdiction now that said Commander was actually present.

That had left Fenris. And he hadn't protested much, beyond his upper lip curling at the mention of lyrium.

"Let's go," River said, her chattering teeth nearly making her stutter. No amount of fur lining her armor had made the Champion of Kirkwall comfortable with Sahrnia's rock-bottom temperatures. She reached for Fenris's hand, which he offered to her immediately. "And find those…scarlet shitheads."

"Burgundy bastards?" Finn said, locating the one tunnel he was pretty sure they hadn't traversed yet and heading for it, motioning for the rest of them to follow behind him.

"Crimson…criminals," River said, audibly shivering over the heavy crunching of boots in the snow.

Finn led the way through the tunnel, relishing the clearer air inside; lyrium hadn't parasitized these walls yet. "Auburn arseholes."

"It never ends," Fenris said dryly.

"Not until we run out of synonyms," River replied with forced cheeriness in her voice. "Um…vermilion vagrants."

Varric whistled. "Good one. I might use that."

"Word-thief."

"Hmm…" Finn mused aloud. "Mahogany miscreants?"

"Sometimes I wonder about you, _amatus,"_ Dorian said; Finn briefly looked back and watched the Tevene mage draw his overcoat tighter around his frame.

"Dorian," Finn said, "based on the number of times you've said that, you are _always_ wondering about me."

Dorian huffed a quick laugh. "You're lucky you're adorable."

"Chapter sixty of _The Insane Life of Finirial Lavellan,"_ Varric proclaimed in a booming voice. "The elf suddenly stops being adorable for some inexplicable reason, and Dorian kills him in a fit of blind rage."

Finn snorted, ghosting his fingers over a small node of glimmering blush-pink dawnstone embedded in the cave wall. "How many fucking chapters are you planning for that damn thing, anyway?"

"Tsk, tsk. Author's secrets. You'll never know until you read it, will you?"

"Arse."

"You love me, Frosty."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I hear screaming," Fenris said in a mild voice from next to River. "More caged prisoners?"

Finn nodded his answer, holding his staff ready in his right hand and jogging through the tunnel into another opening in the canyon.

Easy enough for his sharp elven eyes to pick out the number of Templars in this section of the quarry—ten, it looked like. Not to mention a towering behemoth lumbering amidst the group, red sparks jumping off its heavy crystalline form.

Last time Finn had fought a behemoth, it had clubbed him clear across the grounds in front of the misfiring trebuchet in Haven, snapping his ankle in the process. This time—Finn's magic was a great deal stronger, thanks to Vivienne's training.

And they were surrounded by snow and ice, and freezing temperatures. Not half-arsed cold and raked-over dirt like there'd been at Haven.

It took barely any effort to reach into his magical reserves; his mana thrummed in his veins, driven to eagerness by the crisp crackle of dry cold in the air around them. Ice threatened to explode out of his hands; he squeezed his fingers instead, waiting, signaling for his companions to take their respective positions first.

Whatever the Templars were expecting when River and Fenris charged into the fray, it probably wasn't for Fenris's entire body to turn brilliant blue as he phased right through one of the Templar warriors, tearing the man nearly to shreds.

"Take that, you filth," Dorian called, hurling a searing orange fireball into one of the Templars who'd decided to charge their way.

The behemoth spotted them.

"I've got the big one!" Finn yelled, gripping his staff tight and running for the massive creature. "Keep the others off me!"

"Got it!" Varric yelled after him.

He'd have to be extra careful of a spell purge—being hit with one of those, and being subsequently drained of magic, had led to the tumble that broke his ankle during Haven's siege.

But. Something like this, with a spiked arm that could deal an absolutely devastating downswing, could easily take out one of his companions in a single blow if it hit. Finn knew his barrier could absorb it now.

He skidded in front of the behemoth and swept his staff's head in an arc, hitting the thing with a haphazard array of ice shards. It let out a garbled, low-pitched growl, swinging its heavy arm almost lazily in Finn's direction.

"Try harder, arse," Finn taunted, hurling a stonefist against its spiked lyrium shell.

Somewhere near him, one of Dorian's fireballs blew a Templar backwards, leaving the warrior in a sizzling heap in the snow. Nice shot—Finn almost turned his head to congratulate him on his aim, but in that instant, the behemoth was recovering from the stonefist and charging.

Finn had nowhere to dive to—Templars on either sides of him. He concentrated instead on a barrier, thrusting it forward in a shimmering aqua disc; the behemoth collided with the barrier like it had hit a brick wall instead, heavy chunks of red lyrium chipping off its body as it reeled backward.

_I'm getting better at those things,_ Finn noted, grinning despite himself.

"Eat dirt!" Varric yelled, and one of Bianca's bolts ripped through a nearby Templar's helm.

Damn. Everyone had solid aim today.

Roaring, the behemoth raised its arm high, smashing it down; Finn got out of the way in time, sidestepping, letting his natural Dalish agility take over.

It looked like just about all of the lesser Templars had fallen flat to the snow—the behemoth seemed to be the only thing stomping around this section of the quarry. Finn watched one of Bianca's bolts glance off the behemoth's glassy exterior.

A heavy gust of wind howled through the quarry where there'd been only a thin breeze before. Several monstrously large ice bolts ripped out from seemingly nowhere, slicing through the behemoth like fancy Orlesian cheese and leaving visible trails of iced mist in their wake. The shards embedded in the rock wall near Finn, shaking the stones and jostling a few loose.

A death rattle bubbled up from the creature's innards, and it swayed once, then tipped over, shattering on the ground in a thousand red fragments.

Finn stared at it, aghast.

That…that hadn't been one of Dorian's spells. He knew Dorian's magic—varied though it was, with its scattered concentrations in necromancy, pyromancy, primal magic, and whatnot—like the back of his own hand.

The wind subsided as quickly as it'd come, and some of the mist dissipated from the quarry…allowing Finn a clear view of a figure standing above them, looking down into the small canyon.

It looked to be a woman in fur armor, judging by the shape of the figure. Finn spotted tanned skin and a long braid over one shoulder, hair as porcelain white as his own had once been.

He froze, unable to move for a long moment.

She watched him, her braid stirred by the breeze. Even from this distance Finn saw blue eyes, knew they were deeper and bluer than his own, as vivid as a lake on a sunny day.

How the hell did he know that?

She turned, stepping slowly away, watching him over her shoulder and then disappearing over the rocky rise.

"Hey!" Finn yelled, his impromptu exclamation echoing around the quarry as he bolted forward, his body moving of its own volition.

"Where in the world are you going?" Dorian shouted after him.

"Finn!" River cried out.

He reached the rock face—thankfully, one of the only rock faces clear of lyrium deposits—and leapt up, grabbing handholds in the cold stone and hauling himself upward. He'd scaled larger and more challenging walls than this; in what felt like no time he was scrabbling to the top of it, finding solid footing, a carpet of snow beneath his feet.

Breath puffing in front of his face, he looked around, searching the stand of frost-covered pines. There—a wolf with pure white fur, watching him with blue lupine eyes before it turned and trotted away.

"Get back here, mage," Finn huffed, picking up a run and following it.

The wolf loped through the pine forest, and Finn chased after it, weaving past dark trees and grey stones, vaulting felled logs. Turning, the wolf rushed down a steep slope; Finn didn't slow his pace, bracing his arms wide to steady himself and angling more sideways as he followed the animal down.

He could almost hear Nani's voice in his head. _Really, Finn? You randomly decided to chase a wolf across Emprise du Lion? What got into you?_

The creature shifted forms at the banks of Sahrnia's frozen lake, morphing into a hawk with ivory feathers in a seamless puff of magic that tugged strangely at Finn's own mana pool. It soared over the lake, coasting easily; Finn grumbled under his breath about having to take the low road and ran out onto the ice.

The hawk circled above him each time he slowed, as if making certain he'd make it across.

Only his own good balance saved him from slipping wildly on the ice surface and cracking his skull open. It took a bit of skidding and a few unsavory curses, but he found a pace across the ice, clambering onto the snowy bank on the other side as the hawk glided in front of him.

He spotted what appeared to be a narrow cave entrance in the rocks before him, and the hawk flew into it, its pale form swallowed up by darkness.

"Well," Finn muttered to himself, jogging to the cave's thin mouth, "if this is a trap, I probably deserved to walk into it."

He skimmed his fingers along the cave's cold, bumpy stone wall, venturing inside.

Nothing sinister greeted him upon entry—no swarm of bats, no creepy laughter, no glowing eyes in the dark. Although he had to note that _his_ eyes would suffice on the creepy glow-in-the-dark front, given the _tapetum lucidum_ elves had.

It was a short walk until the small tunnel bent, only a few paces at the most. Then Finn spotted the unmistakable yellow glow of a fire ahead.

Campfire, by the cozy crackling of wood. Nothing terribly sinister about that, either.

Finn explored forward, his footfalls silent.

The flame crackling invitingly over the small bundle of logs in the middle of the cavern lit up the space around it, and Finn spotted the mage again, returned to human form. Wait, no—elven. Those were long, pointed ears peeking out of her thick hair. Even the dimmer firelight didn't dull the cerulean of her big, almond-shaped eyes. Her arms were crossed loosely over her chest, fireglow glancing off her tawny tan.

Not a Dalish elf, that much was evident. Her skin was utterly free of tattoos, and she didn't look like a child. Not that she looked _old;_ in fact, he couldn't quite guess her age. She could've easily been around his age, could've easily been older. Her face was fresh, youthful, pretty in appearance.

" _Halig,_ Finn," she said, looking over at him; her mouth curved in a friendly smile, and her eyes softened around the edges.

Who was she, he had to wonder—and why did her appearance seem to trigger some sort of _déjà vu?_

Her voice sounded awfully familiar, though. Comforting, almost. He'd heard it before, that much was certain. Not a Dalish accent like he was used to; if he was any judge, her accent actually sounded Avvar. That greeting had been Alamarri, to boot.

But the Avvar—the Alamarri—were human.

And he'd barely encountered any Avvar in his entire life. He'd always been particularly adept with accents, but…how could he know this one, with nothing to base it off?

"Can I help you?" he asked, his brows pulling together.

She let out a melodious laugh. "What, do I look like I need help? Sit, won't you?"

His brows furrowed tighter, almost triggering a headache. "Not that I'm terribly picky about who I sit around a fire with, but—I just sprinted for a solid mile and ditched my companions in a red lyrium mine. Could you explain why you lured me here before they track me down and chop me up into little pieces?"

"It might be easier if you think about why you followed," she said, glancing into the fire.

"I'm not good at this critical-thinking shit," Finn said with a light chuckle, easing down to sit cross-legged by the fire.

"Aye," she said, nodding, like she understood. "You and I were always the same in that. Driven by instinct."

Instinct. He'd chased her here out of instinct. But instincts always had a reason behind them.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Have we…met before?"

Her expression was gentle, impossibly and confusingly fond, as she sat down near him and smoothed her thick white braid in her palms. "You could say," she said. "It's been many, many years. You look exactly as I've always imagined. Well—except for the brown hair." She scooted closer and reached for his hair, feeling a wavy strand of it between her lithe fingers. He didn't flinch away. "Dyed, of course."

"Dyed," he confirmed, nodding. Why did her hand in his hair feel so natural? If he could only wrack his memories, properly excavate his subconscious, figure out where he'd seen her before…

"Did Clan Lavellan not give you _vallaslin?"_ she asked curiously.

"No, I had it removed not that long ago," Finn said. "By a friend. I needed anonymity at an event we just attended, see. And apparently _vallaslin_ in ancient elven times were actually—wait a moment."

"Yes?"

"I'm still confused."

She chuckled. "Aye, you have every right to be. I keep forgetting to explain myself."

He met her gaze, blue eyes locking with blue. "I _seriously_ feel like I know you from somewhere."

"That's a relief," she said, smiling brightly. "I _am_ your mother, after all."

***

Finn had probably been staring at the fire with the same stupid expression on his face for several minutes now, while the elf next to him—apparently his _mother—_ waited for him to process her words.

"I remember my mother, though," he eventually said, although it felt and sounded to him like a weak excuse the moment it was out of his mouth. "She—she wasn't a mage. Just a Dalish hunter. She had auburn hair and green eyes, and—"

"And you never wondered why you were born with white hair?" the shapeshifter asked calmly. "Even though your father and this woman had dark hair?"

No, he definitely had. His redhead mother and brown-haired father shouldn't have produced a strange white-haired child with an inescapable affinity for ice magic. Mages didn't run in his and Nani's family. As far as he'd always believed, his magic, his very _nature,_ had been a fluke. Nani had always been the child that made sense: dark red hair, fair skin, natural affinity for a bow, Dalish in every sense of the word.

He'd never been able to ask. His and Nani's parents had died when she was only three, leaving him to raise her with the help of the rest of the clan.

"You never wondered why winter runs so strongly in your veins?" she continued, stretching a hand out towards him, palm-up.

He reached his own hand out, laying it in hers experimentally, palm up just as hers was. Frozen magic crackled between them, writhing from skin to skin, jumping like a live animal in Finn's blood. Strong as his magic had always been, hers felt stronger, as powerful as a storm and just as wild.

"Tell me everything," he said suddenly, in a rush of air. "Your name. Everything. If you really are my mother—I want to remember."

"I'm introducing myself to my own son," she mused aloud, slowly removing her hand from his to drum her fingers on her thigh. "What else did I expect? You can just call me Aiyana, if you like; everyone else does. I haven't used any other title in ages."

"No surname?" Finn asked. Not a lot of elves had a surname unless they came from a noteworthy family that traced back to Arlathan, or if they belonged to a specific clan—or unless they lived in human society in an alienage and named themselves appropriately, he supposed. Warden Surana and Warden Tabris had surnames, after all.

She nodded. "It's an old one. And a dead one, mostly. Aoëthian."

"Aoëthian…" he repeated, rolling it around on his tongue.

His mind pitched about like a ship in stormy seas. He wanted to tell himself none of this was true, but at the same time, the wild thrumming in his heart kept telling him _it was._

"You were only four when I brought you to Clan Lavellan, to your father," Aiyana explained, fiddling with her slender fingers. "The clan welcomed you in with open arms, as he did; I wouldn't have left you there if that weren't the case."

Finn's throat tightened. Memories flashed in front of his eyes—a chilled hand soothingly stroking his hair, a woman with a long white braid kneeling in the dirt in front of him, holding him by his tiny four-year-old shoulders and murmuring words of encouragement. Blue eyes locked with his, watering, brimming with tears. An elven man with brown hair and green eyes, dark green Dirthamen _vallaslin_ just like Nani's, emerging from a stand of trees. The cool hands slipping from his shoulders and dropping to the woman's sides.

"Why did you…" he managed.

"Finn," she said softly. "You were suffering."

He bit his tongue, looking at her.

"Children of people like me…don't grow up normally," she said. "And you…you always had such _life_ in your eyes, the moment you were born. You loved people. You wanted to touch everything, smell everything, be a part of everyone's comings and goings. Living a lonely life like mine would have killed your spirit eventually. I couldn't do that to you."

"I don't understand," he said. "I know you're not Dalish—I think—but the clan still would have—"

"The clan would never accept a witch."

Whatever Finn had been about to finish that with, it trailed off.

Witch. The word brought to life a great many images in Finn's head. Everyone across Thedas knew the tales about the Witches of the Wilds, for one, although those women were exclusively human, he was pretty certain. Wasn't Morrigan one of them? Still. Any witch, a hedge mage, whatever one wanted to call it, was a powerful and volatile creature indeed; Finn had never seen someone shift shapes with such natural ease, nor call forth such wildly explosive ice.

"I guess Dalish aren't usually fans of overpowered magic, huh?" Finn acquiesced. "Too much power always meant too much risk. Keeper Istimaethoriel always emphasized caution."

Aiyana nodded, looking wistfully at the flames as they licked towards the cave's ceiling. "The Avvar of Stone-Bear Hold give me a home from time to time. I've never overstayed my welcome at any given time, though. I don't want to bring them danger. But I will return there, I think. There's been strife in the area."

Curiosity overruled whatever Finn had been feeling earlier. "Where's that?"

"Not far from here. Over the Ferelden border and a bit farther south."

"In the Frostbacks?"

"Aye," she said. "In the Basin. You were born there, you know. Finn is an Avvar name."

He quirked an eyebrow. "It's short for Finirial. With a random extra 'n'." Not that he'd ever liked his full elvish name. It had always annoyed him, for some reason. Too elegant for his tastes, maybe, too pompous.

She snorted. "Not originally. The Dalish like their long names, the ones that remind them of whatever the old elven kingdom was called. Arse-something."

"Arlathan," Finn said, laughing abruptly.

"See," Aiyana said, grinning, "I was close."

Part of him _wanted_ to question all of this, if only because the notion of much of his life being a lie wasn't an easy one to swallow. Had his father altered his name and hidden Aiyana's existence just for the purpose of assimilating Finn into the clan?

Was Nani truly his half sister? And since Aiyana was a nomadic witch rather than a Dalish elf…did that make Finn only _half_ Dalish by blood?

Impure, that made him. The Dalish were supposed to be able to trace their bloodlines back to the ancient elves of yore. And yet, Finn found himself barely caring about that revelation, only aghast that it had been kept from him for nearly his entire life. Surely the Keeper had known about this. Worse still, he'd been her _apprentice._

"Did you know they'd pretend you never existed, with me?" he finally asked.

She nodded somberly. "I thought they might. But I also thought…better you forget I ever existed, than be forced into a life that would've snuffed out all of your light."

He watched her, and realized her eyes had begun to water.

"Hey—" he started.

"Did Clan Lavellan raise you right, Finn?" she asked, her gaze intense. "Your father. Did he take care of you?"

"As long as he could," Finn said honestly. "I was eight years old when he died. Wildcat took him down during a solo hunt."

"Ah, _fuck,"_ Aiyana cursed, looking away.

"I'm sorry."

"What? Don't be." She looked at him again. "That scar, on the right side of your face…"

Creators; Finn always felt a dull, nauseas ache boiling in his insides every time he remembered the attack. Curse the damned bear for leaving such noticeable evidence, streaked right over his eye and down his cheek. Normally he joked that the scar was just a manly battle token, but now…

"I was gored by a bear." He curled an arm around his middle. "Maybe I can tell you the full extent of that, later."

Her face crumpled in pain. "If I had known—"

"It was my own fault," he said hurriedly.

"I sincerely doubt that."

He opened his mouth—never mind that he wasn't quite sure what to say; he'd always opened his mouth before filtering what came out of it, anyway—but shut it the instant he heard boots at the entrance to the small cavern. Anyone could've picked out a dwarf's short, heavy stride through snow and dirt, even accompanied by longer strides as it was.

His companions had tracked him.

"Well, they found me," he said, glancing at the dark passage separating the campfire from the cave's mouth.

Aiyana stood up in one hurried motion.

"Stone-Bear Hold," she said. "If you come, if you choose to…I'll wait for you. As long as it takes. But it has to be _your_ choice."

Magic bloomed around her, cold and nearly tangible, and then her elven form in fur armor was gone. In its place was the white hawk she'd turned into to cross the frozen lake; with a beating of strong ivory wings, the hawk disappeared into the shadowed tunnel.

Finn heard River yelp—probably as the hawk flew right over her head—and he smiled fondly.

"His prints go in here," he heard her say; her voice was unmistakable. "See that? I can even make out toe-prints."

"Can't believe he sprinted _barefoot_ across an iced-over lake," Varric grumbled somewhere near her. "Frosty's got some weird shit rattling around in his head."

"I can hear you!" Finn called, chuckling.

The voices stopped; someone coughed.

Deciding to humor them, Finn stood and tromped back out through the small, narrow passage, shielding his eyes from the winter sun's glare as he exited the cave.

Snow had begun to fall; not heavily, but little white spots had settled in everyone's hair. Although it was nigh on impossible to see on Fenris's head. The elven warrior looked bored but none worse for the wear, scuffing the bottom of his foot on the opposite pant leg. Varric had actually been forced to button up his shirt from the cold, covering up his usually exposed chest. River's expression melted into relief, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.

Dorian…looked _pissed._

" _There_ you are, sweetheart," River said. "What in the world was that about? Why did—"

"If the lot of you wouldn't _mind,"_ Dorian said curtly, crossing his arms over his chest, a frown twisting his mouth, "I would appreciate a word or two with a certain someone."

"No one's stopping you, Sparkler," Varric said.

" _Alone."_

Snickering, Varric muttered something about Finn's upcoming funeral to River as the three of them stepped off down the lake's shore, giving Dorian and Finn a moment of privacy.

Dorian set his jaw and glared down at Finn; he looked awfully tall from this angle.

"You've got snow in your moustache," Finn said.

"Oh, no you don't," Dorian said. "Don't you start trying to distract me by being _cute._ "

"I'm only—"

" _Finn,"_ Dorian hissed, taking the much smaller elf by the shoulders. "You reckless ignoramus. What in the Maker's grace were you _thinking?_ You're aware of the countless Templars trolling about the area, yes? Or perhaps the roaming packs of black wolves?"

"Dorian—"

"Oh, and let's not forget the boundless joy of there being _three dragons_ currently eastward."

"Alright but—"

"Never mind that you scrambled up a cliff face—one that had nearly been eroded by red lyrium mining—to chase after another entirely arbitrary mage."

"Dorian…"

"Don't you 'Dorian' me." Visibly furious, he gave Finn's shoulders a shake. "After trekking like a blasted woodsman through horrid terrain, blinding snow, temperatures that should be outlawed, and caverns filled with lyrium deposits, the _last thing_ I want to encounter on this Maker-forsaken expedition is your _corpse!"_

"How inconvenient!" Finn shot back.

Dorian growled low in his throat, shaking Finn by the shoulders with each staccato word. " _I. Don't. Want. To. Lose. You."_

Finn froze. Then his shoulders slumped and his expression crumpled apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"Now that that's over with…" Dorian took Finn's face in warm, gloved hands and leaned down, pressing their mouths together in a hard kiss. "I'm relieved you're alright. Not to mention I am much too young for such violent heart trauma."

"I'm fine," Finn promised when Dorian straightened up. "Just a bit shaken up, if anything."

"Oh." The taller mage almost looked…sheepish? "Perhaps I shouldn't have—"

"No, no, not from you." Finn shook his head. "It's…something else."

Dorian smoothed his thumbs over Finn's cheeks, his brows pulling together. Even Finn, oblivious as he often was, couldn't miss the worry clouding the smoke-grey of his eyes. Flecks of pale snow dotted his glossy, somehow-still-in-place hair. He must've been freezing, too; he'd always been accustomed to Tevinter's warmer climates and unenthusiastic about Ferelden and Orlais's weather.

"Did something happen to you?" Dorian asked. "I'll admit to curiosity about your reasons for blasting off like you did."

"That, uh," Finn said. "That mage? Did you see her?"

"I saw the havoc she wreaked, certainly. But no, I didn't get a decent look at her. Apparently _you_ did, considering you bolted after her like you'd just seen a spectacular dessert tray on the horizon."

"Weird comparison, but alright."

"Hardly weird," Dorian said dryly. "And? You caught up to her in that cavern, yes? I do hope she met your expectations after you chased her clear across Emprise du Lion."

"Knowing what I know," Finn said with a chuckle, "this conversation has taken a turn for the bizarre."

"Why don't you share your knowledge, then?"

"Because, it's…" Finn searched for words. "Well…"

Dorian sighed heavily.

"Dorian," Finn said, "I think I…well, it's…what I'm trying to say is…" He cleared his throat. "That was my… _mother."_

The taller mage opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"This was the first time I've seen her." He couldn't stop the torrent of words pouring out of him. "I mean, obviously I've seen her _before,_ considering she gave birth to me and whatnot…um…anyway… She's not Nani's mother. And I thought Nani's mother was _my_ mother—obviously, because everyone _told_ me that—but apparently not, she's not, and it's just now sinking in that Nani is only my _half_ sister, and—"

" _Amatus,"_ Dorian said gently, stroking Finn's hair off his forehead.

"—And there's so many things I don't _know,_ and I _want_ to know them, but it's just…this is a whole lot to take in, and—"

"Finn…"

"—and I think my next excursion away from Skyhold will be to the Frostback Basin," he finished, taking a deep breath of cold winter air. "But I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. First, I…need to figure out a way to break this to Nani."

Nani _hated_ change. Finn's throat tightened.

"Are you two lovebirds quite done?" Varric called over from where the three of them stood down the bank. "As hilarious as it is to spy on you, I'd love to get out of the cold!"

Finn and Dorian looked at each other.

"I don't envy you that conversation," Dorian said, not unsympathetically. "Shall we return to camp? Talk about this in a less offensive setting?"

"Yeah," Finn said. "Yeah. I'll…figure the rest of this out later."


End file.
